


The Shape of Vengeance

by MeetMeInTheWoods



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hatred has consequences, Hurt/Comfort, Jedi, No Promises No Lies, Revenge, Slow Burn, The Helmet Stays On, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Whump, but so does forgiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:35:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 34
Words: 83,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24022207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeetMeInTheWoods/pseuds/MeetMeInTheWoods
Summary: While Din, Cara, and the foundling recover on Sorgan, a young woman with a violent vendetta lands on Nevarro in pursuit of the Mandalorian.  When Moff Gideon approaches her with a proposition that will give them both what they seek, she enters into a dangerous alliance with the Imperial warlord.When she finally encounters the Mandalorian, however, she quickly realizes that things are not as they appear, and that holding up her end of what seemed to be a straightforward deal might, in the end, cost her everything.
Comments: 303
Kudos: 151





	1. On the Trail

Korr Lo crouched beside the body of a dead man, studying it with interest. Judging by the state of decay, he had been dead for weeks, though the arid climate of the desert had preserved his remains well. He wore the traditional garb of a Mandalorian but lacked the signature helmet, weapons, and most of his armor – likely the work of scavengers. A conspicuous hole in his forehead indicated the likely cause of death, a blaster round fired at close range. Obviously, the man hadn’t been wearing Beskar.

If he was indeed a Mandalorian, it was odd that his tribe had left him to rot in the desert instead of giving him a proper burial, as was their custom.

Korr stood up, sheathing the twin blades she had been holding, and gazed out at the empty expanse of desert before her. The looming mass of her starfighter sat at the periphery of her vision but other than the body of the Mandalorian and her ship, the surroundings were vast and empty, devoid of any distinguishing features. Above her, the night sky was moonless, punctuated by the light of a million stars.

Nevarro.

While Korr and her twin brother had been growing up in the relative comfort of their home planet, Coruscant, they had imagined a million different futures for themselves, had dreamed of countless adventures together among the stars and planets that she now gazed upon. Not a single one of those fantasies had included dying on a backwoods skug hole of a planet, alone and so far from home.

Korr turned and started walking in the direction of the nearby settlement. With any luck, she’d find the man she was seeking at one of the taverns there.

When she reached the town, she realized that there was only one cantina. That made her job easier. It was crowded despite the late hour, but she wasn’t surprised. Because of the Guild’s presence on-planet, bounty hunters made up a significant proportion of the local population; and bounty hunters kept strange hours.

Korr stood in the doorway of the cantina and scanned her surroundings. Live music issued from one corner of the tavern, only slightly louder than the animated conversations of its rowdy patrons. After a moment she spotted a man dining alone in a shadowy booth at the back of the cantina. He sat with his arms casually stretched out along the back of the booth, surveying the scene before him with an air of easy belonging, and he fit the description of the man she was looking for.

Korr headed for him. He watched her approach with an expression of mild interest.

“Greef Karga?”

He inclined his head.

“May I sit?”

He gestured to the bench and Korr sat down, aware of the gaze of several nearby patrons. An unfamiliar face meeting with the leader of the Bounty Hunters’ Guild was sure to attract attention.

Greef Karga studied her. “Are you looking for work?”

“No. I’m looking for the Mandalorian.”

“I know several. I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”

“I’m looking for the one that killed a bunch of bounty hunters here a few months ago.”

Greef’s expression changed almost imperceptibly; a narrowing of the eyes. “I see. And you think I know where he is?”

“He works for you.”

“It’s true that he used to be a member of the Guild. But ever since his fiery resignation a few months ago, I have no idea what he’s been doing to entertain himself these days – nor do I care.” Greef took a sip of his ale. “What business do you have with him?”

“I want to talk to him.”

“Well, I’m afraid that won’t be possible here.”

Korr had a brief moment of panic, supposing that the dead Mandalorian in the desert was the one she sought. She asked, “Why not?”

“He’s not on Nevarro. He left the planet weeks ago after a confrontation with the Imperial remnant here.”

Korr wasn’t surprised to hear that there were Imps on the planet. It made sense that even now, the Empire had managed to maintain a presence on Nevarro. Despite its position along the remote Outer Rim, Nevarro had been an Imperial stronghold up until the very end of the Galactic Civil War.

She asked, “Do you know where he went?”

“No.”

Korr pulled a sack of New Republic credits out of her cloak and tossed it on the table. “Look, if it’s money that you want….”

Greef glanced at the credits. “If you’re hoping to blend in around here, you should change those to Calamari Flan or druggats.”

“Creds still spend.”

He looked at her appraisingly, then asked, “May I offer you a bit of advice?” When she didn’t respond, he continued, “Money will be the least of your concerns if you continue to seek the Mandalorian. I say that from personal experience. Mando made me more money than any other bounty hunter in my employ, but no amount of wealth makes up for the trail of death and destruction that he leaves in his wake.” He leaned forward. “If your business with him is friendly, seeking him will be a waste of time because he works alone. And if your business with him is something else – well, I doubt you’ll survive the encounter.”

Korr wanted to tell the man, in as patronizing a tone as he had just used, that she had no choice in the matter.

She had felt the moment of her brother’s death, thousands of light-years away on Coruscant. It had been a visceral dagger through the heart, a brutal rending, jolting her awake in the middle of the night and robbing her of sleep for weeks. It haunted her still, a phantom pain, forcing her to relive his death over and over.

In the months it had taken for news of his death to make its way to Coruscant, Korr had lived in a bleak world of uncertainty, keeping her horrifying premonition a secret from her family – hoping she was mistaken, knowing that she wasn’t. And when her twin’s death was callously confirmed by a passing courier ship, she’d watched the news devastate her parents, and grieved him all over again.

She had been in a dark vacuum ever since, and she knew that the only way out was to find the man who had gunned her brother down in cold blood. Even if it meant chasing a trail that she knew had gone cold.

Now she asked, “Are you protecting him?”

Greef scoffed. “Mando? The last time we met, we were trying to kill each other. He would have succeeded, if not for a particularly well-placed piece of Beskar. Believe me, there’s no love lost between us.”

Korr was silent. After a moment, Greef said, “I’ve provided you with quite a bit of information – free of charge, I might add – but I don’t have the pleasure of your name.”

“Korr Lo.”

A flash of recognition. He said, “Ah. And Owen Lo…?”

“My brother.”

“I see the resemblance. If you’re as good with blades as he was, well – I’m always looking for more talent.”

Korr took the satchel of credits from the table and stood up, knowing that she would get no useful information from this man. “Thank you for your time.”

She turned to leave and Greef called after her, “What happened to your brother, and to a lot of other good hunters that night, was a shame. I mean that, truly. They got caught in the crosshairs of a particularly ugly moment in Guild history. But finding the Mandalorian won’t bring you the closure you seek.”

“I’m not looking for closure,” she said, and walked out of the cantina.

The night was jarringly quiet after the raucous din of the cantina. Korr took a deep breath and started the long walk back to her ship. Frustration rankled her nerves, occupying her thoughts, and so she didn’t immediately notice the three Trandoshans that had followed her out of the tavern and were now trailing behind at a comfortable distance.

They were after the money, she supposed. It had been stupid to pull the credits out at the cantina the way she had, but she had been desperate.

It had been a gamble that hadn’t paid off, and now she was going to have to deal with the consequences.

She was nearing the edge of the town. There was a dark alleyway to her left and without a second’s hesitation, she took a sharp turn and disappeared into it. It was narrow enough that the Trandoshans would have to enter one at a time.

Korr pressed her back against the wall and pulled her blades out as the footsteps drew closer.

“She went in there,” she heard one hiss. He rounded the corner and she lunged at him, dragging the blade across his throat in a swift, decisive motion. Something warm splattered against her wrist and he made a gurgling sound as he tried to scream, one hand going to his throat as the other scrabbled at her face. Korr pulled away from him and he collapsed to the ground.

She pressed her hands and feet against the opposing walls of the alley and was six feet off the ground by the time the second Trandoshan entered the narrow lane. She leapt onto his back as he passed beneath her, knocking him to the ground, pushing the dagger in with a savage twist for maximum damage. The third pursuer advanced toward her, pistol in hand. Korr backed up further into the alley, keeping the body of the dying Trandoshan between them.

“You’re quick with a knife,” the third assailant sneered. “But I doubt you’re faster than a blaster.”

Korr let the dying Trandoshan fall. In a fluid motion, she flung one of her knives at the third assailant and dropped to the ground. A single shot rang out and she covered her head with her hands, knowing what pitiful protection it would provide against a ricocheting pulse of laser fire.

Miraculously, the pulse fizzled out without hitting her. Korr stood up and walked over to the third Trandoshan, now dead on the ground. Her knife was lodged firmly in his chest – it was off-center from where she had intended, and she made a mental note to practice that with her left arm. She pulled the blade free and wiped it off on his cloak. There was blood on her arm from the first one, and she used his cloak to wipe that off, too.

A shadow crossed in front of the alley, momentarily blocking the light coming off of the main thoroughfare, and Korr looked up in alarm.

It was an old man. He wore a heavy cloak and a large medal around his neck, and he appeared to be alone.

“Impressive,” he said, in a thick accent that she couldn’t place. “Where did you acquire such a talent with blades?”

Korr ignored his question and answered with one of her own. “Who are you?”

“I overheard your conversation with Greef Karga tonight. I believe that you and my employer may have overlapping interests.”

“And what’s that?”

“It would be best for you to discuss with him directly. I will take you to him.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” Korr said. She’d had her fill of unplanned encounters tonight.

“You want the Mandalorian,” the man replied, and she looked at him. “So does my employer. And I believe that we may be able to reach an agreement that would benefit us both greatly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brownie points for anyone who knows the identity of the dead Mandalorian in the desert. :)


	2. The Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things that I can tell are going to be tricky in this story - comm links, and tracking fobs. Most seem to agree that they track their subject based on DNA, so I'm going to go with that; but the jury is still out on their range and accuracy, so expect some artistic liberties to be taken on that front. :)
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy!

Korr stood in the middle of a dimly lit room, trying to decide if she was being reckless or stupid.

After all, she had followed a strange man to an inn, in the middle of the night, with nothing more than a vague assurance that they could help each other satisfy some shared goal.

She was being both reckless and stupid, she decided. But mostly, she was desperate.

Because of the delay in receiving news of her twin’s murder, the Mandalorian had a several months’ head start on her; and within hours of landing on Nevarro, she’d reached a dead end. The Guild leader had not been helpful, and she had no way of tracking him any further.

Well. She had nowhere else she needed to be at the moment. And she had her daggers.

She could handle an old man and whoever else he was working with.

As if on cue, the door to the room swung open to reveal a shadowy figure standing in the doorway. Korr watched warily as a man entered the room. He was tall and dark-skinned, sported a close-shaven haircut, and wore a heavy black cape over his shoulders. Pinned to his cloak was an insignia plaque bearing ten colored squares – five blue over three red and two gold ones.

He was an Imp; and not just any Imp. He was a fucking Moff.

The man studied her. “I’m told we may be able to help each other.”

“I doubt that,” Korr muttered, turning to leave. Not that she had any great love or loyalty for the New Republic, but even she knew that the last thing she needed was to get into bed with an Imperial remnant.

She had reached the doorway before the man said, “The Mandalorian and I share a lengthy history. I can tell you how to find him.”

“What do you know about him?”

“Not so long ago, I had him in one of my ship’s prison cells.”

Korr turned around. “And you let him escape?”

The man gave her a thin smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s slightly more complicated than that, but yes – he escaped.”

“If you can’t keep him in a cell on your own ship, why should I believe that you can help me now?”

“Because I have a tracking fob that can lead you straight to him.”

Korr’s heart skipped a beat, but she was careful to keep a neutral expression on her face. There had to be a catch. She asked, “Who are you?”

“I think it’s better if we leave names out of this.”

She had expected as much. “Why not go after him yourself? You seem to be a man with the means and the resources to do so.”

The man sat down at a small table in the room and gestured for her to do the same, but Korr remained where she was. He stared at her. She had the impression that he wasn’t used to people not doing what he told them to do.

After a moment he said, “For reasons that I’m not inclined to discuss, I’ve come to the conclusion that attacking with force may not be the best approach for this particular situation. I believe this needs to be a more delicate operation, requiring a light touch. And I hear that you are good with knives.”

Korr said, “I intend to use them. If you’re asking me to deliver the Mandalorian to you – “

“You can have him.”

“Then what’s in this for you?”

“He has something that belongs to me. I want you to retrieve it.” The Moff continued, “Several months ago, the Mandalorian accepted a contract from me. He managed to recover the bounty and brought it to me here on Nevarro. He accepted payment and the deal was concluded. Then he returned later that evening, stole it, and fled the planet.”

Korr stared at him. This was a missing piece of the story that she already knew. He continued, “During his escape, he killed several fellow Guild members when they tried to prevent him from leaving. I understand that your brother was one of the casualties that night.”

He must have spoken to Greef Karga.

The man continued, “Frankly, I don’t care about your motivations. All I care about is retrieving what is rightfully mine. The tracking fob that I possess is keyed to the Asset, but I can assure you that the Mandalorian will always be with it. It’s far too valuable for him to allow it to leave his sight. I’ll give you the fob and a comm link so you can contact me directly. You’ll recover and deliver the Asset to me. In return, you get the Mandalorian and a generous commission. That’s it.”

Korr considered his offer. With Owen dead, her family was once again dependent on her father’s meager income as a metalworker, one that had been reduced to nearly nothing during the economic recession caused by the Civil War. The payment for a recovered bounty would help them immensely.

It seemed simple enough. Too simple? She knew that she couldn’t trust this man. Lies and manipulative intent slid off of him in waves, and she sensed a cruelness behind the composed exterior that made her skittish.

But many goals had been accomplished in the absence of trust.

Having a tracking fob on the Mandalorian would change everything.

She said, “I’ll do it.”

The man smiled and stood up. “One more thing.”

She fucking knew it.

“I need a few strands of your hair.”

“What?”

“In the event that you have a change of heart along the way or decide that it will be more lucrative to keep the Asset for yourself – well, I’ll need a way to key a tracking fob in order to find you. You understand, I’m sure. We hardly know each other, so it’s natural that I’ll want a little security.”

Korr hesitated. She didn’t like this part of the deal, but without the fob she knew she had no chance of finding the Mandalorian.

She wouldn’t have a change of heart, even if he was an Imp. After all, he’d paid for his bounty and been robbed of it by unscrupulous means. It was rightfully his.

The only thing that would prevent her from holding up her end of the deal, she decided, would be if she died before she could return with the Asset. And if she was dead, she wouldn’t care much one way or the other whether there was a bounty on her head.

* * *

Ever since they had landed on Sorgan a few weeks ago, Din had been uneasy.

It wasn’t that the quiet, heavily forested planet represented any threat – quite the opposite. His first time living amongst the peaceful inhabitants of the krill farming village had been some of the most relaxing weeks of his life, and this recent stay had been no different.

No, the discontent he felt was something else; something from within. A darkness, it seemed, that he couldn’t quite shake – a lingering guilt, a feeling that despite his best efforts, he had failed.

The events that had led up to their seeking refuge on Sorgan had taken a toll, not only on him but on the lives of his fellow Mandalorians – and that weighed heavily on his conscience. The Covert had suffered tremendous losses to come to his aid – losing the life of a tribe member as well as their home on Nevarro. As a result, they had been forced to strike out across the Outer Rim in order to find another planet upon which they could eke out a clandestine existence, all the while knowing that no refuge would ever come close to replacing the home planet that they had lost.

To make matters worse, he had no idea as to the condition of their leader, Bo-Katan Kryze. No one had heard from her for months, and Moff Gideon had the Darksaber. Those facts did not bode well for her or the Mandalorians who followed her.

In the aftermath, Din found himself the surrogate father of a small green foundling whose powers he could not even begin to comprehend. He had only barely managed to protect the child from the various threats that had surfaced over the last few months – at this point, the kid had saved his life more times than he’d saved his – and now he had been given the seemingly impossible task of identifying the foundling’s species and returning him to his own kind.

Before the foundling, Din’s existence had been, if not at times brutally violent and occasionally lonely, simple and entirely self-sufficient. He had relied on nothing but his own abilities and resources, been dependent on no one but himself. Now, he felt as if he owed a debt that he could never repay to far too many.

His life had been irrevocably changed and complicated by his decision to go back to save the foundling that day – and while every fiber of his being knew that that had been the right decision, that he’d give his life a thousand times over to keep the child safe – he didn’t quite know how to adjust to this new reality.

With a sigh, Din leaned back in his chair and tentatively stretched his arms above his head. There was a sharp twinge of protest from the still-healing knife wound at his side. The physical and psychological trauma that he had endured while a prisoner of Moff Gideon’s had left its mark; but though sleep continued to be elusive most nights, the bruises had faded and he had recovered most of his strength. His ribs, he knew from experience, would take longer to heal.

From the porch of the cottage, he gazed out at the village in front of him. It was just barely dawn. A low-lying mist hung over the valley and the only sounds that broke up the stillness were the chirping of birds and the sporadic croaks from the blue-skinned, one-eyed frogs that lived in the ponds. The villagers would be waking up soon.

Din stood and walked stiffly down the steps, heading for the neighboring hut. Inside, he found Cara sitting on her cot, lacing up her boots. The foundling sat contentedly beside her, rolling a small round rock back and forth on the floor.

Cara, perhaps, he owed most of all – more than once, she had put herself directly in harm’s way in service to him and the foundling, demonstrating a loyalty that he knew he didn’t deserve.

He leaned against the doorway of the cottage. “You’re up early.”

“Figured you’d want to get going.”

The foundling tottered over to Din and he bent down and picked him up, holding him in the crook of his arm. “Well, it’s a long journey from here to Corellia.”

“Yeah. That, and I know that you’re no good at goodbyes.” She glanced up at him, hesitated. “You sure it’s a good idea to split up like this?”

“I have no use for the Core. Too many people.”

“I could delay my business there. Tag along to whatever Outer Rim skug hole you’re heading to next.”

“No. We’ve taken up enough of your time.”

Cara’s gaze softened and she started to speak, but then her eyes shifted to focus on something behind him.

Din turned to see Omera approaching the cottage, carrying a basket full of linens. She’d be heading down to the river to do the washings, he knew. He walked down the steps to meet her.

She smiled at the foundling in his arms, then looked up at him. “I see you’ve packed your things. Leaving, so soon?”

“Yes.” As long as Moff Gideon was alive, the contract on the foundling would remain active; and the tracking fobs that were keyed to the child would eventually find him again. Din had to remain one step ahead of any hunters, which meant never staying in one place for too long. Now he simply said, “It’s time for us to move on.”

“Everyone will be sorry to see you go.”

The unspoken words hung between them in the cool mist of the morning and Din was suddenly reminded of the first time he had left. Before the revelation that a bounty hunter had managed to track the child to Sorgan had destroyed all illusions of safety, he had briefly allowed himself to imagine a different path for himself. He remembered the gentle tug of Omera’s hands on the brim of his helmet as she lifted it upwards; the feeling of her fingers in his as he pulled her hands back down.

That, too, seemed so long ago.

Nothing like that had happened this time. He had been clear about his intentions then, and Omera was far too respectful to push the issue now.

Omera asked, “You are well enough to travel?”

“Yes. Thanks to your hospitality, and the hospitality of the village.” Another debt he could never repay.

“You and Cara saved our home. You are always welcome here.” She smiled hesitantly. “The Klatooinians have not returned since that day. Would you like your communication device back?”

Din shook his head. “Keep it. It will be good for the village to have a way to contact us if they need to.”

She inclined her head. “Alright. I’ll ask Caben to take you back to your ship. And if you don’t mind, I’ll have Winta come to say goodbye to the little one.”

“Of course. He would like that.”

He watched her walk away. When he turned back to Cara, she was looking at him with a sad smile on her face.


	3. An Old Friend

Arvala-7 was another red desert planet, not dissimilar from Nevarro in its topography and climate. Its volcanic landscape consisted of narrow gorges, towering cliffs, and peaks and valleys comprised mostly of sandstone. There were few trees or vegetation anywhere, and as was common on other sun-scorched worlds, long-term inhabitants were invariably forced to operate moisture farms in order to maintain a modest subsistence on the planet.

That was where its similarities to Nevarro ended. The Bounty Hunters Guild operated out of Nevarro, which resulted in a steady stream of activity and commerce on the planet. Arvala-7 had no such claim. There were no settlements, commercial resources, or sizable population anywhere on the planet – and so it remained wild and remote, one of the lesser known worlds on the Outer Rim, drawing mostly criminals and mercenaries.

Those qualities would typically make a planet suitable to Din’s tastes. Unfortunately, the lack of civilization on Arvala-7 also meant that it was overrun with non-sentient animals – animals that, in Din’s recent experience, seemed oddly and specifically determined to kill him. Blurrgs and mudhorns, to name a few. 

And Jawas. He’d had run-ins with them, too.

Now, Din maneuvered the Razor Crest onto a flat patch of desert and killed the engines. The area he had chosen was surrounded by natural rock formations, which he hoped would hide the ship from the roving Jawas who had complicated his departure the last time he’d been on-planet. He glanced over at the foundling, sitting in the makeshift co-pilot’s chair that he’d rigged up a few months ago. “You ready to stretch your legs, you little womp rat?”

The foundling cocked his head and said, “Ah.”

It had been a long journey from Sorgan to the central region of the galaxy, where he’d dropped Cara off on Corellia. Even the short amount of time he’d spent traveling within the Core Worlds had been too much for him – the New Republic had entrenched itself there after the war and there was a strong government presence in the region. There were too many ships, too many prying eyes and ears, too much of the wrong type of action. He’d stayed on Corellia long enough to refuel and resupply, and then he’d guided the Razor Crest back out to the comforting emptiness of the Outer Rim Territories.

He hadn’t asked Cara what business she had on Corellia, and she hadn’t offered any information, but she had promised to raise him on the comm link once she had finished. It was strange, now, flying through the galaxy without her. He’d almost gotten used to having her around, and he knew the foundling had.

Now he said to the kid, “I know you miss her. But we’re going to see another friend now.”

Another friend. A year ago, Din would have been hard-pressed to recall a single interaction that hadn’t ended with bloodshed or a carbonite freezer. Now, he had friends.

Before leaving the ship, Din opened his weapons store and racked up – a vibroblade in his shin guard, pistols in both hip holsters, and an Amban rifle strapped across his back. He’d lost several weapons to Moff Gideon, but he carried replacements on his ship, and he’d taken advantage of his time in the Core to replenish his ammunition.

After a short trek across the sandy desert plains, Din and the foundling found themselves approaching a small, isolated moisture farm. The late afternoon sun hung low on the horizon, and a solitary figure could be seen welding something atop a tall pole planted in the middle of the settlement.

Din approached the pole and looked up at the Ugnaught. The foundling trailed behind him.

“I thought you were dead,” the figure called down by way of greeting as he continued to work.

“You could be forgiven for thinking that,” Din replied.

After all, when they had last parted ways, Din had been setting off across an inhospitable desert on the back of a recently tamed blurrg that, only the day before, had tried to kill him; and in pursuit of a bounty that previous hunters had died trying to obtain.

Kuiil climbed down and offered his hand to the Mandalorian. He glanced at the foundling tottering behind Din.

“Who is this?”

“You should know. You helped me find him.”

Kuiil stared at the child. “This is the cause of all of the fuss?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“That’s why I’m here. I was hoping you could tell me.” The child had been living on Arvala-7 before Din had crossed paths with him, heavily protected against a steady stream of hunters by a large military settlement. If anyone knew anything about the foundling’s life before the Mandalorian, it would be Kuiil.

“I’ve never seen his kind before.”

Well, that hadn’t taken long.

Kuiil must have sensed Din’s disappointment. He said, “Come inside. We have much to discuss.”

They walked toward the squat cottage that sat at the far end of the farm. Din noticed new fencing surrounding the perimeter of the settlement. He glanced back at the pole and realized that Kuiil had been installing a holographic camera.

“You’ve had trouble here?” he asked.

Kuiil waved a hand dismissively. “Bandits and rogues. Out to steal my vapor and turn it for a little profit. Nothing I can’t handle.”

A squeal of excitement made them both turn to look at the foundling. He had caught a frog, and now two long, spindly legs stuck out of his mouth.

“Hey,” Din said. “Spit that out.”

The child swallowed the frog and gazed up at him contentedly.

Kuiil said, “Fascinating.”

Inside the cottage, Din propped his rifle up against the wall and sat down on a small stool while Kuiil started a fire.

“I assume you and the child have not been wandering around in the desert ever since the last time I saw you,” Kuiil said. He placed a large pot filled with stew over the fire and stirred it once with a long ladle. “So, tell me how you’ve come to find yourself back on Arvala-7, seeking the origin of the bounty that you were supposed to turn over several months ago.”

And Din did. The words came out haltingly at first; he wasn’t used to explaining himself. Kuiil listened intently, interrupting only to ask a question or clarify a point. When Din revealed that he had been tasked with returning the foundling to his own kind, Kuiil raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

After he’d finished, the two men sat in silence for a few moments. The stew was bubbling, but Kuiil made no move to take it off the fire.

Eventually he said, “You are a different man than you were when I first met you.”

Din didn’t reply.

“And the child,” Kuiil remarked, studying the foundling. The child chirped softly in response and raised a tiny claw. “If what you say about his abilities is true, then I understand why so many have sought him.”

“Yes. Moff Gideon is relentless. It is why I must find the child’s kin. If they have similar…powers, then they can protect him. They may be the only ones who truly can.”

“You seem to have done a good job of it so far.” Kuiil must have sensed Din’s implicit disagreement because he said, “He’s alive, isn’t he?”

“Alive and safe are two different things.”

“I doubt the child would draw a distinction.” Kuiil poured some stew into a small bowl and placed it on the floor in front of the foundling, then walked to the back of the cottage and plucked a book from a small shelf on the wall. “You know of the Jedi?”

“Of course,” Din replied. “But the child is far too young to have been trained in the use of the Force.”

“Not all Force users are trained,” Kuiil said, opening the book to a specific page and presenting it to Din. “There are beings known as Force-sensitives who are highly attuned to the flow of the Force in the universe. Theoretically, such an individual would be capable of sensing and manipulating the Force even without proper training.”

Din studied the text. “You think the kid might be one of these…Force-sensitives?”

“It’s the only explanation I can think of as to why he’s able to do the things he can do, and at such a young age. Perhaps you are not meant to return him to his own kind, but to take him to the Jedi instead. The Jedi Temple is on Coruscant. It is where they – ”

Every cell in Din’s body rebelled at that thought. “No. He’s too young.”

Kuiil replied gently, “Rather, he’s still young enough.” He continued, “The Jedi only take Force-sensitives on for training at an early age. As they get older, they start to learn things about the world – anger, resentment, loss, injustice – that pull them toward the dark side, away from the forces of good. The histories tell us that this has happened before, with terrible consequences. And so, the Jedi would prefer to leave Force-sensitives untrained if there’s any chance that they may be persuaded to use their abilities with evil intent.”

Din looked at the foundling, who had ignored the bowl of stew and was tracking a small fly’s movements around the cottage with a rapt gaze. “I’m to return him to his people, not turn him over to an ancient race of wizards so they can brainwash him and use his powers to further their own ambitions.”

“I know that the Mandalorians have not traditionally aligned themselves with the Jedi. But they are likely the only ones who can train the child in the proper use of the Force. You have done an admirable job of keeping him safe, my friend – but teaching him how to protect himself will be the only way to truly ensure his safety.”

Din remained silent.

Kuiil took the book and placed it on the table. He said, “It’s dark now, and a long walk back to your ship. You and the child will stay here tonight.” Before Din could protest, he raised a hand. “I have spoken.” 

He poured a larger bowl of stew and handed it to Din. “You can eat in the room. I will watch the child.”

Din was suddenly aware of the exhaustion settling deep in his bones. “Thank you.”

“Take the rest when you can find it, my friend. I suspect your journey is only beginning.”


	4. The Dragon

It was a short trip from Nevarro to the nearby planet of Arvala-7. Korr had flown in under the cover of night, landing her starfighter a few miles away from where the tracking fob had put the Mandalorian’s last position so that he wouldn’t be alerted to her presence.

The fob hadn’t registered any movement for several hours; and Korr had assumed that he was holed up on his ship for the night. She was therefore surprised when she stumbled upon a large spacecraft in the desert, long before the fob indicated that she’d reached her target. It was an old gunship, the kind that had been used to patrol local territories before the Galactic Empire, and judging by the remote landing spot and its proximity to the Mandalorian’s current location, she was sure it had to be his. He had strategically parked it in an area surrounded by large rocks to conceal it from the casual observer, but the route she had taken had led her straight to it.

According to the tracking fob, the Mandalorian wasn’t aboard the ship.

So, he knew someone on Arvala-7. It made sense; otherwise, what reason would he have to be on such a desolate planet? It wouldn’t be on behalf of the Guild, if what Greef Karga had said was true. Perhaps he had gone rogue and was hunting for criminal syndicates now. He could be meeting with any number of underworld scum who called the planet home.

Without knowing the exact circumstances, Korr decided that the safest course of action would be to camp out near his ship and wait for him to return. It would be easier to face him if he was alone.

She found a small rock shelf overlooking the ship that offered some protection from the wind and lay down upon it, covering herself with her cloak. She had no illusions of sleep, and instead settled down to spend the few remaining hours of darkness sharpening her daggers and gazing up at the stars.

Korr had passed countless nights doing this very thing with Owen, though the night sky overhead had looked very different in the Core than it did out here on the Outer Rim. She’d been insanely jealous when he had struck out on his own before she had – to work as a bounty hunter, of all things. It was a job that would take him to the far reaches of the universe on adventures fraught with danger and excitement, to all of the planets that they had dreamt of exploring together.

Honest work, he had said to their parents before he left. Their family needed the money, and bounty hunting could be a lucrative occupation. The Guild regulated and legitimized the bounty-hunting trade, pursuing and capturing dangerous criminals and bringing law and justice to distant, unsettled regions that had little to no government presence. For years, it had been recognized by the Galactic Empire as serving a vital function throughout the galaxy.

Korr had asked him about the other hunters during his last visit to Coruscant.

“We’re competitive, obviously,” Owen had replied. “We’re all just trying to make a living, and often we’re going after the same bounty. But the Guild follows a strict code of conduct. It’s like a brotherhood, really.”

A few months later, one of Owen’s brothers would kill him on a lonely night on Nevarro, for no reason other than that he’d tried to prevent him from committing a crime.

Now, the universe felt much larger without him in it.

Sometimes Korr felt as if the only force greater than her grief was her anger. She knew that there was nothing she could do about the grief – thanks to the Mandalorian, that would remain a part of her for the rest of her life. She was a twin without her twin. She didn’t know what that made her, but she knew that she would never be whole again.

Vengeance would dull the anger.

It had to.

As the sun started to rise over the distant horizon, the fob emitted a low beep. Korr glanced at it and realized that it was tracking movement again; and that its target was heading in her direction.

Adrenaline pumped through her veins and she scrambled to the top of a nearby rock formation for a better vantage point. After a moment of scanning the horizon, she spotted a solitary figure striding across the desert, his cloak billowing out behind him. Her heart thudded heavily in her chest.

It was him. The Mandalorian. He walked with purpose, even under the heavy Beskar armor. His helmet gleamed in the early morning light, and the black T-visor gave him a cold, calculating appearance. There was a long rifle strapped across his back and he was carrying something in the crook of his elbow.

Korr climbed down from the rock and pressed her body against it, trying to control her breathing. She was about to go up against a member of a race famed for their skill in battle, and she would need all of her focus and skill to take him down.

After a moment – which felt like an eternity – she peered around the rock again. He was close now, perhaps twenty or thirty yards away. He touched something on his arm and with a loud creak, the landing ramp of his ship began to lower to the ground. Korr gripped her blades tightly, finding comfort in the familiar grips of the hilts.

She would show the Mandalorian as much mercy as he had shown her brother when he shot him through the heart.

Abruptly, a strange clicking noise overhead drew her attention upwards, and what she saw sent a cold terror racing through her veins. Two monstrous reptiles had appeared on top of one of the nearby rock towers. They were massive, each of them nearly twice her size, with scaly brown skin and a series of horns covering their heads.

These were dragons, she realized. Krayt dragons, typically found in the mountainous, desert regions of Tatooine.

And they weren’t paying any attention to her because they had their sights trained on someone else.

One of the dragons let loose a terrifying screech and leapt down from the tower, landing directly in front of the Mandalorian. Korr watched him react with incredible speed, reaching for the long rifle slung across his back and bringing it up to aim. The dragon lunged forward and the Mandalorian, denied the time needed to energize the weapon, adjusted his grip on the weapon. The beast crashed into him, knocking him onto his back as he held the rifle up to fend off the attack. The dragon snarled ferociously, its fangs snapping around the rifle as it tried to land a killing blow.

The Mandalorian squirmed beneath it, one hand holding the rifle as he scrabbled for something at his hip with the other. He must have found it, because suddenly there was a blast of laser fire and the dragon screamed and stumbled backward. Bright blue blood dripped from its side. The Mandalorian scrambled to his feet and staggered backwards, one arm cradling his ribs, and fired several shots into the dragon’s head.

The second dragon was heading toward her mate to join the fray. Korr had moved out from behind the rock in order to get a better view of the action, and now she saw a tiny green creature emerge from a small outcropping of rocks near the Mandalorian. In the process of doing so, it had inadvertently put itself directly in the path of the charging dragon.

The reptile hesitated, assessing this new development, and then let loose a low, gutteral growl. The little animal answered with an alarmed squeak and stumbled backward as the dragon charged toward it.

Without thinking – because if she had been thinking, she likely would have had the sense to not intervene – Korr hurled a dagger at the second dragon. Her aim was true, and the blade lodged firmly in its back, but it might as well have been a wooden stick for all of the damage it seemed to cause. The dragon turned to face her with a snarl and Korr realized immediately what pitiful protection her remaining dagger would offer against an enraged reptile twice her size.

She turned and ran.

The earth shook beneath Korr as the dragon gave chase, and suddenly she was knocked to the ground by a massive blow that took her breath away. She landed on her back and scuttled backwards as the dragon advanced toward her, its thick, two-pronged tail swinging back and forth menacingly.

As she hefted her remaining blade in her hand and brought it up to strike, the dragon leapt on top of her and raked a sharp claw across her arm, leaving a line of fire in its wake. She ignored the pain and shoved the dagger into the side of its head with all of her strength. The dragon screeched, a blast of hot and fetid air issuing from its fanged mouth. Bright blue saliva dangled from its fangs, dripping onto her face, and she thought, die already, you bastard.

Suddenly a shot rang out, and the dragon screamed and reared back, turning to face a new threat. Korr took advantage of the distraction and scrambled backwards as the animal charged in the opposite direction. A second later, there was another shot, and the dragon collapsed.

That just left her, gasping for breath, staring up at the Mandalorian that she had fully intended to kill just moments earlier – only now, her daggers were embedded in the body of a dragon and he was looking down at her with a blaster in his hand.

Except that he wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he dropped to one knee and turned to a pile of rocks nearby. For a second she thought he was praying – which would have been surprising in and of itself. Then little green creature that she had tried to save moments earlier appeared and readily ambled toward the Mandalorian, chirping excitedly.

She realized that the animal was wearing a robe, which was odd. Odder still was that it seemed to recognize the Mandalorian.

She hadn’t imagined him to be the type to keep pets.

Korr pushed herself up off the ground and examined her left arm. The dragon’s claw had left a long, deep gash nearly the entire length of her forearm and blood dripped from the open wound. She tried – and failed – to make a fist, grimacing with pain as well as at the realization that wielding a dagger effectively in that hand was out of the question for now.

Taking down the Mandalorian one-handed would be infinitely more challenging.

This had not been part of the plan.

She started toward the dead dragon but found herself staring down the business end of the Mandalorian’s pistol.

“Don’t,” he said. His voice was softer than she had imagined it would be, and the modulator in his helmet gave it a slight distortion, but the deadly threat in that one word was unmistakable.

She raised her hands. “I’m just getting my blades.”

He didn’t lower his pistol. “What are you doing here?”

Korr had not expected to have to defend her presence on the planet – honestly, she had hoped to have killed him before any conversation had to take place – and thought quickly. “My ship’s nav system was malfunctioning. This was the nearest planet. I stopped here to try to find a mech shop to fix it.”

The Mandalorian didn’t reply. Korr stared defiantly into the impassive visor of his helmet. There was a strange part of her that didn’t care whether he believed her or not. A part of her that was daring him to shoot her.

She could still kill him with one hand. She just needed to get to her dagger.

Finally, he lowered his pistol and slipped it into its holster. It was less about trusting her, she knew, and more about believing that he could move faster than her if needed.

Korr walked over to the dragon. As she did, she surreptitiously slipped her good hand into her pocket and turned off the tracking fob. The last thing she needed was for it to give itself away with a telltale beep.

With effort, she yanked her daggers out of the dragon’s tough skin. The blades glistened with bright blue blood.

“I don’t suppose you have medical supplies on that ship of yours,” she said to the Mandalorian.

He ignored her, stalking back to the body of the first dragon to retrieve his rifle. The little green creature tottered along behind him.

Korr followed, spinning the hilt of her dagger in her good hand. Like all Mandalorians, this one wore a lot of armor but still, there were gaps. Areas of vulnerability between the helmet and the cuirass, the shoulder pauldrons and the vambraces, around the thigh guards – perhaps difficult to hit with precision with a firearm, but ample opportunity to find a large artery if one had enough skill with a knife and a basic understanding of humanoid anatomy. She was pretty sure that he was a man, though his armor and clothing concealed his skin and any distinguishing features.

She realized abruptly that the Mandalorian, along with the rest of the world, had gone slightly blurry. She shook her head to clear her vision and was overcome by a sudden wave of nausea, followed by a series of violent chills that made her shudder.

Her legs were no longer working properly, either, and she stumbled and fell to the ground, unable to lift even her good arm to soften the impact.

As if from a great distance, she felt something crawl up her arm and then the little green creature was perched on her stomach, its arms outstretched toward her face. She tried to speak but her tongue felt thick and heavy in her mouth and all she could manage was an intelligible moan.

She heard a voice – the Mandalorian – say “No,” and then she passed out.

* * *

Din was annoyed.

He had half-intended to leave the girl where she’d fallen out in the desert, to let her succumb to the venom of the krayt dragon. It would have been a convenient solution. He didn’t know who she was or what she was after, but the mere fact that she had been wandering around in the middle of the desert, so close to his ship, was enough to make him wary. Seeing her abilities with her daggers as she fought off the second dragon only served to increase his suspicions.

Then the foundling had tried to heal her; and when Din had pulled him away, the child had let out such an insistent cry that Din had had no choice but to treat the girl himself – if only to prevent the kid from doing it, and at a much greater cost.

So, Din had carried the girl onto the Razor Crest and deposited her onto the cot in the med bay. She was still unconscious and sweating profusely. Occasionally a low moan would issue from her throat. Without treatment, he knew, she’d be dead within minutes.

Now, he pried her mouth open and gave her the last of the antivenom treatment that he had in his med kit.

“We’re going to regret not having this at some point,” he said to the child, holding the empty vial in the air. “And it’s going to be your fault.”

The foundling cooed and lifted an arm for the empty bottle. Din gave it to him.

He turned his attention back to the girl. She was human, and she looked relatively young – perhaps in her late twenties, though Din wasn’t very good at judging ages. She was slender, with fair skin and dark hair that had been coiled up into some sort of braid on the top of her head, and she wore a dark tunic with a hooded cloak draped across her shoulders. A leather utility belt encircled her waist.

The girl didn’t look particularly threatening, but then, most people didn’t when they were unconscious.

It was hard to say how long it would take her to wake up, and Din had no intention of waiting around to find out. He thought about leaving her at Kuiil’s moisture farm; but if she did harbor any sort of ill intent, he would only be putting the Ugnaught in danger.

Din picked up the foundling and climbed up the stairs into the cockpit of the Razor Crest. He flicked on the nav computer and brought up a quick scan of the surrounding area. After a moment, he found what he was looking for – a relatively small, unidentified man-made object a few kilometers away from the Crest. The right size for a personal spacecraft, and the right location according to the girl’s story.

He glanced at the foundling. “You up for a little investigating?”

The foundling held up the glass vial and said, “Aha.”

“Good. Let’s see if her story holds up.”


	5. A New Plan

Korr woke up with a jolt. Her head was pounding, and her mouth felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton. She opened her eyes and her surroundings slowly came into focus. She was lying on her back, staring up at a metal ceiling interlaced with pipes and ductwork.

She was on a ship, and it wasn’t hers.

There had been a fight, she recalled. In the desert. There had been…dragons.

The Mandalorian.

Korr tried to sit up but her wrists had been cuffed to a piece of pipe that ran horizontally along the wall. Any remaining grogginess dissipated with this realization and she broke out in a cold sweat and began to flail wildly, trying to free herself from the restraints.

“Calm down,” a disembodied voice said from somewhere behind her. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

As calmly as she could, Korr replied, “You’ll forgive me if I’m not convinced.”

The Mandalorian came into her view and she recoiled as he approached, drawing her knees up and pressing herself into the corner of the cot. He touched a button on his vambrace.

The cuffs clicked open.

“I had to make sure you weren’t going to steal my ship while I was gone.”

Korr sat up and watched him warily, rubbing her wrists. She noticed that the wound on her arm had been neatly bandaged, which only served to further confuse her.

“What happened?” she asked, because there were still a lot of blanks in her memory.

“Krayt dragons have a lethal venom in their saliva. You were poisoned during the attack. I gave you an antivenom.”

This was an interesting development. Korr had dreamt of the bloody confrontation with the Mandalorian a thousand times over the past few months, but not once had she imagined a scenario in which “thank you” would have been an appropriate response.

She couldn’t bring herself to say it. Instead she asked, “Why did you help me?”

The Mandalorian ignored the question. “I found your ship.”

Korr’s heart thudded. If that was true, and if he’d performed even the most cursory of examinations, he’d know that the nav system on her ship was working just fine – and that she’d lied about her reasons for being on Arvala-7. She stared at him, trying to gauge what he knew, but his expression was utterly unknowable behind that damned helmet.

She let her good hand fall to the hilt of her dagger.

Finally, the Mandalorian said, “Jawas got to it before I did. It won’t be taking you anywhere anytime soon.”

“What?”

Slowly, as if speaking to a child, he said, “Your ship. Has been stripped. For parts.”

“By Jawas,” she repeated dumbly. The initial relief that her lie had gone undetected disintegrated as the news sunk in. This was yet another unexpected wrench in her plans. She couldn’t return the bounty to Nevarro without a ship.

She couldn’t leave _this_ planet without a ship.

“Where can I find them?” she asked. “The Jawas?”

“They’re nomadic, and they’re protected by the crawling fortress. You’re not getting your parts back.”

Something about the way he said it made her think that he had personal experience with the circumstances she now found herself in. Korr said, “Then I’m stranded here.”

If she’d thought the Mandalorian might offer her a ride – or at the very least, some assistance – she was disappointed. Instead, he said, “That’s not my problem.”

“Is there a mech shop here? A settlement? Anything?”

“No.”

Korr thought quickly. If the Mandalorian’s account of her ship was to be believed, it appeared that this ship was her only way off of the planet. And as much as she favored a scenario in which she killed the Mandalorian, stole his ship, and flew to Nevarro with the bounty, she’d never piloted a spacecraft like this before. It was larger and much more complex than her own single occupant starfighter, and the ship was so old that it was likely off of both the Imperial and the New Republic grids. Its navigation system and pilot controls would be different from any that she’d ever trained on.

And if she was being honest with herself, she wasn’t entirely confident that she could kill the Mandalorian before he killed her first. It would have been a challenge even when she had been at full strength.

She considered calling the Imp on the comm link he’d given her back on Nevarro but quickly eliminated that option. Not only did she doubt he’d lift a finger to help her if she wasn’t in possession of the Asset, but she didn’t like the idea of being indebted to a Moff – for any reason.

Her best option, then, was to hitch a ride with the Mandalorian to a more civilized planet. There, she could purchase a new ship and the supplies needed to make the journey to Nevarro and eventually return to the Core.

Besides, it would give her time to recover her strength and find the Asset. It had to be somewhere on his ship.

Korr took a deep breath and tried to inject a tinge of desperation into her voice. It wasn’t difficult. “Can you give me a ride? I’ll go wherever you’re going. I just need to get to a place where I can find a ship and – “

“No.”

“I have money. I can pay you. I won’t be any trouble – “

He turned away from her. “No.”

Korr gritted her teeth. He was a heartless bastard, if he was willing to leave someone stranded in the desert with no supplies or means of travel. It shouldn’t come as a surprise – after all, he’d mercilessly gunned down several members of his own Guild just months earlier.

She had to try to kill the Mandalorian now, she decided. It was either that or face certain death on this remote planet anyway. If by some miracle she succeeded in taking him down, she would just have to figure out how to pilot his ancient ship to the nearest civilized port.

The Mandalorian pressed a button on the wall of the med bay and an adjacent door began to lower, revealing a small landing ramp that led down to the desert below.

He turned back to her and Korr tensed, ready to spring into action.

Suddenly a tiny squeak issued from the opposite side of the chamber, drawing her attention. The small green creature stood in the inner doorway of the med bay. She’d forgotten about the Mandalorian’s pet.

The door to the landing ramp started to close of its own accord.

The Mandalorian hit the button again. The door screeched to a halt, and then began to reopen.

Just as abruptly, the door started to close again.

 _What a total piece of space junk_ , Korr thought. The doors didn’t even work.

The Mandalorian seemed poised to hit the button again, but then he looked over at the robed animal. Korr followed his gaze. The animal stared back with wide, innocent eyes and she was hit by an odd, vague sense of familiarity. She _knew_ she had seen his kind before. But where?

The Mandalorian sighed and looked at Korr. “Where did you say you were headed?”

“I didn’t,” she replied slowly, unsure of what exactly was happening. “But any planet that’s civilized enough to have an active space dock will do. Almost every dock has transports going to Coruscant on a regular – “

“You’re going to Coruscant?”

“Yes. That’s where I’m from.”

The Mandalorian studied her for a long time. He was obviously weighing something in his mind. He looked at the green animal and then back to Korr. When he spoke, his irritation was evident. “Fine. But we’re leaving now.”

* * *

There had been few constants in Moff Gideon’s tumultuous life, but one thing that he had always possessed was anger.

As a child, he had first known anger when his father, a duct rat who cleaned air vents in the Foundry on Corellia for a living, had killed his mother in a drunken, despairing rage. That anger he had felt then had been an impotent, futile thing, for he had been too young to do anything about it.

When Gideon had turned thirteen, he had purchased a Twi’lek spinning blade from a weapons dealer in the market and murdered his father as he lay sleeping in bed. Afterward, he had sat on the floor with his father’s blood dripping from his hands, and he had found an anger not sated, but instead made darker. He had known then that this new companion would stay with him for the rest of his life.

He used this quiet, seething rage to his advantage, calling upon it to fuel his dedication to the Imperial Security Bureau as he rose through the ranks to become a well-respected marshal. He used it to exact a brutal and violent suppression of the Mandalorians during the Great Purge, and he had been heralded as a hero of the Imperial Army. Then the New Republic had won the war, and the accomplishments that had been celebrated by the Empire were suddenly deemed war crimes, punishable by execution. After faking his own death, Gideon had fled the Core Worlds at the head of an Imperial remnant. He had been on Nevarro ever since.

Gideon could have used his resources – for they remained considerable, despite the state of the Empire – to build a comfortable life for himself on the outskirts of civilization. He could have seized control of any number of planets in the territory and created a new identity for himself, casting aside the complicated history of his career with the Empire.

Much as the disgraced former magistrate sitting across the table from him had done.

Several years ago, Greef Karga had been a respected government official of the Empire. Then he’d been caught brokering an illegal arms deal with a faction of the New Republic and had been forced to flee to the Outer Rim, where he’d eventually managed to maneuver himself into a position of power as the leader of the Bounty Hunters Guild.

Gideon would have respected the man for his ability to climb out of the ashes if he wasn’t so disgusted by him. Karga’s treasonous act against the Empire was a black mark, indicative of a short-sighted man loyal only to himself, a man who lacked the ability to see or work toward the greater good.

Now, however, he said only, “Thank you for meeting with me.”

“Of course,” Greef replied, flashing an easy smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “How may I be of service?”

“Have your bounty hunters had any luck finding the Asset?”

“No, but this morning the tracking fob pinged him on a planet called Arvala-7.”

Gideon recognized the name as the planet from which the Asset had originally been recovered. Why would the Mandalorian return there?

Karga continued, “A dozen hunters were already en route to Sorgan based on the ping from a few days ago, and they’re going to inquire with the local population – a small farming village, sounds like – but I doubt they’ll learn anything useful.”

Gideon wanted to slam his fist into the wall. “And I’m to believe that these are your best hunters? If so, I’m at a loss as to understand how any member of the Guild ever manages to secure a bounty.”

“You’ll recall that until quite recently, the Mandalorian was a bounty hunter himself,” Greef replied evenly. “One of the best in the parsec. He knows better than most how to evade capture.” A tilt of the head. “I understand you’ve recently had some experience in that regard.”

Gideon didn’t respond to that. Instead, he said, “Well, perhaps the girl will have better luck.”

“The girl?”

“You met her the other night. In this very cantina, as a matter of fact.”

Greef looked surprised. “The girl isn’t a hunter.”

“She knows how to use a weapon and she has a tracking fob on the Asset. Sounds to me like that makes her as capable as any of your hunters.”

“If you’ve sent her after Mando, you’ve sent her to her death. She’s an innocent girl, the sister of a hunter that – “

“Revenge is a powerful motivator,” Gideon replied. “She wants the Mandalorian as much as I want the Asset. Perhaps that will allow her to succeed where others have so far failed.”

Greef leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowed. After a moment he remarked, “I have to admit, I’ve never come across someone so determined to find their mark – and I’ve worked with all manner of individuals, across this system and others. Why does the Asset mean so much to you? Is all of this in service to the Empire?”

“Everything we do should be in service to the Empire. Nothing matters more than reinstating the old powers.”

Greef Karga scoffed. “You’re chasing a castle in the sky. The Empire is gone, and the universe does not mourn its loss. It was a corrupt and broken thing.”

“That’s an interesting characterization, coming from you.”

The Guild leader didn’t reply, and Gideon stood up. “You’ll let me know if you hear from your men.”


	6. Return to Sorgan

There was something about the vastness of space, the way he felt he could lose himself in the emptiness of it, that had always been exhilarating to Din. Often, he felt as if he was never more in control of his own fate as when he was sitting in the cockpit of the Razor Crest, piloting her through the black expanse, adrift and completely alone.

Well, up until recently, alone.

He glanced over at the foundling. The child was gazing out the front window of the cockpit with wide eyes, a small silver knob clutched in his claws, and Din had to resist the urge to place a hand on the kid’s head.

He had not yet reconciled himself to the idea that the child could be a Jedi. It was true that the Jedi and the Mandalorians had an embattled history, but it was more than that – Din didn’t like the possibility that the child was destined for a life of impartiality. The Jedi, he knew, were trained to suppress their emotions, to reject the possibility of family and relationships. They followed a strict code that required tremendous and continuous sacrifice.

As a Mandalorian, and as an orphan, Din knew something of what that sacrifice meant. He didn’t want that for the kid.

So he had initially rebelled at Kuiil’s suggestion to take the child to the Jedi Temple, but he knew that he needed to consider the possibility that there was some truth to the Ugnaught’s theory. If nothing else, visiting the heavily populated planet of Coruscant would provide a chance of encountering someone who knew something of the child’s species. After all, there were over a trillion inhabitants, both alien and humanoid, who called the planet home.

One of whom was on his ship now, if the mysterious girl’s story was to be believed.

She had been an interesting development. Din didn’t trust her, but then, he didn’t trust most. Perhaps more telling was the fact that the _kid_ seemed to trust her. He had tried to heal her back in the desert, and then, in an impressive show of a tantrum, and to Din’s immense irritation, he had refused to leave her behind on Arvala-7.

That had to mean something.

The Razor Crest had reached the Mid Rim when the comm link in Din’s helmet alerted him to an incoming call.

He assumed it would be Cara and was surprised when a different woman’s voice came on the line. She sounded distant and far away, and he could tell that she wasn’t holding the comm link correctly. He’d never shown her how to use it. He adjusted the volume on his helmet.

“I’m sorry,” the woman was saying – to him or herself, or someone else entirely, it wasn’t clear. “I’m so sorry. I – “

“Omera,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

“Bounty hunters have come to Sorgan,” she said, and Din’s hands involuntarily tightened around the ship’s controls. “They’re here, in the village.”

“Are you alright? Is anyone hurt?” He heard her stifle a sob and he repeated, “Is anyone hurt?”

“They…they took Winta.”

Din’s heart sank.

“They know you’ve been here. They’re threatening to kill her if you don’t come back. But I know that if you come back….” Another strangled sound. “We tried to stop them – “

Through gritted teeth, he said, “I’m on my way.”

“Please….”

Din hung up. He typed in a course correction and the ship responded to the command immediately. Even so, he knew it would take several hours to get back to the Outer Rim.

He took a deep breath, trying to suppress the rage and guilt that rose up within him. He never should have returned to Sorgan. It had been stupid and careless. He knew that the bounty on the kid was still active, and he had stayed too long. With the selfishness of his actions, he had made the village a target, and now an innocent girl might pay for that with her life.

This was Moff Gideon’s doing, he knew. Perhaps he had garnered Greef Karga’s cooperation in order to divert more Guild resources to the hunt. He knew that Karga had no love lost for him, either.

Din should have killed them both when he’d had the chance.

The door to the cockpit slid open and a voice behind him asked warily, “Why have we turned around?”

In his anger, he had momentarily forgotten about the girl. Up until a few moments ago, he had viewed that entire sequence of events as an inconvenience.

But maybe it wasn’t. He turned and studied her.

“We need to make a detour,” he said, noticing how her expression tightened at the news. “How’s your arm?”

“I’ll live,” was the terse response.

“Good. I may need your help.”

The foundling dropped the small silver knob that he’d been playing with. It clattered to the floor and rolled toward the woman. She picked it up and handed it back to the child, looking at him with open curiosity. She asked, “With what? Where are we going?”

“A planet called Sorgan. Bounty hunters have attacked a village of krill farmers there.”

“What does a village of krill farmers matter to someone like you?”

That felt like a complicated question.

They shouldn’t have to pay for Din’s mistakes.

He said only, “We’ll be there in a few hours.”

There was a long, tense pause. Even without looking at the woman, he could feel the frustration radiating off her in waves. It was clear that she trusted him as much as he trusted her – definitely not a willing ally, but then, Din hadn’t had many of those up until recently.

Finally, the door to the cockpit slid closed.

* * *

Korr sat on the stairs of the cargo bay, sharpening her blades and trying to come to terms with this latest development. She obviously had no choice but to follow the Mandalorian to this planet, Sorgan – but it remained to be seen what she would do once they got there.

From the vague information the Mandalorian had offered, it sounded like he was planning to take on this group of bounty hunters – and he expected her to help him do so. Everything in her rebelled at that thought, but she couldn’t refuse without making him suspicious, not after he’d seen that she wasn’t completely incompetent in battle.

She hated everything about the situation. The man – or being, as she couldn’t see enough beneath the armor to confirm that the Mandalorian was indeed human – who had killed her brother sat less than twenty meters away from her. He was steering a ship, watching the vastness of space pass before his eyes, making plans, thinking and experiencing and feeling and _breathing_. All things that he had taken away from Owen.

He had destroyed her life, and she couldn’t do anything about it. Not yet.

Korr still hadn’t come up with an acceptable plan by the time they arrived on Sorgan a few hours later. It was a lush, green planet, with dense, sprawling forests that stretched across its surface as far as the eye could see, and for a moment she forgot about her circumstances and simply gazed in wonder at the sight. She had never seen so much _green_. She steeled herself for a shaky, snapping descent through the towering trees and was surprised when the Mandalorian navigated to a large clearing and executed a soft landing onto the forest floor.

Clearly, he had been here before.

She felt the vibration of the ship’s engines cease abruptly. Moments later, the Mandalorian jumped down into the cargo bay, carrying the little green animal. Korr watched him open the doors of his armory and pull out pistols, knives, and ammo, strapping them into the holsters on his armor with a quick and practiced ease. He selected a long sniper rifle with a double-pronged fork at its end, inspected it, and slung it across his back.

“You’re expecting a lot of trouble?” she asked.

“I’m expecting to be outnumbered.”

The little green animal waddled across the floor and Korr watched him. “What about your pet?”

“He’s not a pet.”

“Then what is he?”

“He’s a child. And he’s coming with us.”

_There’s an interesting story there_ , she thought.

It was late afternoon on Sorgan, and the sun shot through the dusty, dimly lit cargo bay as the door slid open. Korr squinted, shielding her eyes from the light as she made her way down the landing ramp behind the Mandalorian.

There was a man standing at the edge of the clearing with a small wagon that was yoked to two large bantha. He had clearly been waiting for them. As they approached, Korr noted a gash on the side of his face with heavy bruising around the injury. He looked anxious, and his face registered only mild surprise as he took in Korr’s presence.

“Thank you for coming back,” he said as the Mandalorian threw a bag of supplies into the wagon and lifted the child onto one of the seats.

“Where are they?”

“They’ve gone into the forest,” the man replied, hurrying around to the front of the wagon. “The woods, to the north of the village.”

“And the girl?”

“They’ve taken her with them. “They’ve given us twenty-four hours, or else they’ll kill her.”

That they had taken a villager surprised Korr, but she knew they wouldn’t kill her. They were bounty hunters, not murderers. The girl was likely just insurance to further motivate the rest of the village to do whatever they were demanding they do within the specified window of time – likely, reveal the fugitive that they were hiding.

The Mandalorian jumped into the wagon and Korr followed suit. As the bantha started to move the wagon forward, the man asked over his shoulder, “Where is Cara?”

“Unavailable.”

The man nodded, appearing to be used to the Mandalorian’s half-responses. He turned to Korr and said, “Welcome to Sorgan. My name is Caben.”

“Korr,” she replied, not bothering to correct his understanding of her circumstances. The helmet beside her turned in her direction and she said, “Yes, I have a name. Do you?”

He didn’t respond. If Caben was surprised by this interaction, he didn’t let on. Instead he said helpfully, “Some of the children call him Mando, but we try to discourage – ”

“Tell me about the hunters,” the Mandalorian said. “How many of them are there?”

“A dozen, at least. They arrived in the village last night, looking for you and something they called the Asset. We didn’t tell them anything, but they must have had some sort of way to track you because they knew that you’d been here recently.”

Korr stared at the Mandalorian in shock. So that was why he cared about the fact that some bounty hunters had descended on an inoffensive village of krill farmers – he was the fugitive, and he’d led the hunters right to the village’s doorstep. Unconsciously she touched the tracking fob in her pocket. It made sense that there were others; of course, the Moff wouldn’t have pinned all of his hopes on her alone.

So the Mandalorian was returning to Sorgan to defend the village out of what – a sense of guilt? Obligation?

Uneasily, she realized that she and the bounty hunters on Sorgan were pursuing the same target.

She looked at the Mandalorian. “Why is there a bounty on you?”

He didn’t reply. She knew that he wouldn’t.

_Because you killed my brother and dozens of others_ , she thought. _And stole something that didn’t belong to you_.

Korr forced the thoughts from her mind. Those kinds of feelings wouldn’t get her far. The Mandalorian had revealed himself thus far to be cold and calculating, and she would have to be the same if she was going to survive the next few days.

She thought about the Asset. Back on Nevarro, the Moff had told her that the Mandalorian would never let the Asset out of his sight. Yet just now, he had taken very little from his ship – only his weapons, a bag of ammunition, and the little green animal that he called a child.

Her eyes came to rest on the Mandalorian’s tiny companion.

He looked utterly harmless, sitting there beside the imposing metal-clad warrior; even kind of cute, with his long, floppy ears and wide, inquisitive eyes. Korr couldn’t imagine what possible use an Imperial remnant would have for such a creature.

Abruptly, the seemingly disconnected pieces of information that had been floating around in her mind for the last several hours came together; and suddenly, she knew why the child looked so familiar to her. Suddenly, she _could_ imagine why the Moff would want him.

If the child possessed the same abilities as the one she was thinking of, he would be valuable beyond measure.

Did the Mandalorian know? He must. It had to be the reason why he would be so determined to keep him.

Across the bed of the wagon from her, the foundling stared at her with his head cocked and she stared back, her mind churning.

The rest of the ride was uneventful, and within the hour they had arrived at the village. It was an idyllic settlement made up of small thatched huts, gardens, and rough dirt paths. The village was punctuated by round ponds where, Korr assumed, the krill farming occurred. There was still plenty of daylight, but it was eerily quiet – there was no one working in the ponds or walking around the village. Likely they were all sheltering inside their homes, hiding from the bounty hunters.

Sorgan seemed to be nothing more than a quiet, backwoods planet with no real industry, and a small population of inhabitants who lived off of farming krill and growing crops. There appeared to be nothing about the planet that would attract a Mandalorian, and Korr wondered what business had brought him there in the past.

Caben stopped in front of a cottage at the edge of the village and the Mandalorian jumped out of the wagon. A woman appeared in the open doorway – she was young and pretty, with jet-black hair that fell straight down her back and dark, almond-shaped eyes that were swollen and red from crying. There was a large bruise on her right cheek.

The Mandalorian walked up the steps and Korr watched in surprise as the woman nearly collapsed against him. He, too, seemed momentarily caught off guard, but he recovered and put a tentative hand on her back to steady her.

“I tried to stop them,” she said, a hand over her face. “Please. We need to get her back. If they – ”

“We will,” the Mandalorian said quietly. “But we have to wait until nightfall.”

The woman took a deep breath and nodded. She looked up at him and tried to smile. “Once again, you’re risking your life on our behalf.”

That seemed to bother the Mandalorian. He took a step back. “They’re here because of me.”

The woman shook her head. She glanced at Korr, noticing her for the first time, and said, “I’m sorry to meet under such circumstances. My name is Omera.”

“I’m Korr. I’m…so sorry about all of this.” She studied the woman and felt a mixture of pity and sympathy for her. She clearly adored the Mandalorian, but she didn’t seem to realize that he was the reason for the pain and grief that she was feeling now. Even the Mandalorian seemed to understand that better than she did.

Despite the circumstances that had brought her to Sorgan against her will, Korr found that she was sincere when she said to the woman, “I want to help however I can.”

_I know how it feels to lose someone that you love._

The woman nodded and said graciously, “Thank you. We can use all of the help we can get.”

Beside the woman, the Mandalorian stared at her impassively.


	7. The Calm

As the sun slowly slipped behind the trees and long shadows began to form over the village of Sorgan, Korr found herself growing increasingly anxious. As soon as it was dark, the Mandalorian would put his plan into motion.

She knew that she couldn’t kill men in cold blood, and the thought of doing anything that would further the Mandalorian’s agenda in general bothered her. But she couldn’t let the bounty hunters get what they’d come for, either. She needed to return to Nevarro with the Asset in order to receive the reward; and she needed the Mandalorian to exact justice for her brother.

If the opportunity presented itself, she could perhaps orchestrate the Mandalorian’s death at the hands of the bounty hunters – it wouldn’t be as satisfying as killing him herself, but it would suffice. The hunters would still search for the Asset, but Korr had the advantage now that she was fairly certain exactly what – or who – it was. By the time the hunters figured it out, she could be halfway to Nevarro on the Mandalorian’s ship.

It was a complicated situation, though, and there were a lot of things that could go wrong. To make matters worse, there was an innocent villager caught in the crosshairs.

Korr leaned against a scraggly palm tree and stared moodily at the pond in front of her. Small blue frogs leapt in and out of the water and she watched them, envying their mindless existences.

She sensed a presence nearby and turned, expecting to find the Mandalorian hovering menacingly behind her. Instead, it was Omera. She held a small porringer of stew out to Korr.

“You must be hungry,” she said. “I thought you might want to eat something…while you have the chance.”

“Thank you,” Korr said, taking the bowl. She wasn’t hungry, but she appreciated the gesture. “That’s very kind.”

“It’s a welcome distraction.”

Korr nodded. “The girl. Is she your daughter?”

“Winta, and yes.” Omera paused, staring blankly out at the water. “She’s…she’s twelve years old.” Too young, she seemed to be saying.

Korr considered telling her that the hunters likely had no intention of harming her daughter, that they were just using her as bait to draw out the Mandalorian, but she couldn’t bring herself to say that to the mother of the child. Instead, she said, “I look forward to meeting her soon.”

Omera took a deep breath. “Yes. You will.” She forced a smile. “And you – how did you come to travel with the Mandalorian?”

“It’s a long story.” In fact, it wasn’t – they had just met – but she didn’t want to have to keep track of the deceit. Something about this kind, plain-spoken woman made her feel that anything less than total sincerity would be a disservice. Korr changed the subject and asked, “Do you know him well?”

Omera smiled briefly. “I’m not sure anyone can make that claim. But I know everything that I need to know about him.” At Korr’s questioning look, she said, “Several months ago, our village came under attack from a raiding tribe of Klatooinians. The Mandalorian and his companion – Cara Dune – happened to be on Sorgan at the time. They helped us defeat them, taught us how to defend ourselves. We would have lost everything without them.”

_Cara_. That had been the woman Caben had inquired about as he ferried them to the village earlier that day. Korr asked, “Why?”

“Why, what?”

“Why did they help you?”

The question seemed to confuse Omera. She studied Korr for a moment, then said, “Because they felt it was the right thing to do.” And then, perhaps hearing what was being implied, “He is a good man.”

Korr said, “They don’t put bounties on men who haven’t done anything wrong.”

There was a long pause, and then a measured response. “I understand that a man can take out a bounty for any reason, as long as he has the money to afford a reward.” And then, “These are not the first bounty hunters to come to Sorgan looking for what they call the Asset.”

Korr looked at Omera in surprise as she continued, “The little one is being sought by powerful people, but he is only a _child_. He is innocent, and he needs to be protected. Ever since I’ve known the Mandalorian, that has been his only purpose. It has been the only thing that drives him. Recently, it nearly cost him his life.”

Any lingering doubts Korr had harbored about the Asset’s identity were washed away in the wake of Omera’s words.

The woman’s eyes shifted, tracking something beyond Korr, and she said softly, “The Mandalorian risked his life once to protect our village, at a time when we were nothing to him. Now, he’s about to do so again, in order to bring my daughter home. So whether or not someone on some distant world has placed a bounty on him means nothing to me. I know who he is.”

Korr turned to see the Mandalorian walking toward them, the little green child held securely in the crook of his arm. He handed him to Omera, who took the foundling as naturally as if he was her own. The child looked at her and cooed softly, clearly familiar with and pleased to see her.

Omera smiled down at him and a tear slid down her cheek. “Winta will be so happy to see you again so soon, little one.”

The Mandalorian looked at Korr. “You ready?”

It didn’t really feel like she could say no, so she simply asked, “Is there a plan I should be aware of, or are we just going to figure it out as we go?”

He didn’t reply and it occurred to her that he must find the present situation just as distasteful as she did. He’d met her _very_ recently under admittedly suspicious circumstances, he’d seen very little of her fighting abilities thus far, and now he was supposed to trust both her skills and her intentions heading into a confrontation with a group of hunters who would outnumber them six to one.

Whoever this Cara person was, Korr was sure that the Mandalorian would have much preferred to have her by his side.

He turned to Omera. “If anything happens – “

“We’ll be fine. Are you sure we can’t send some men with you?“

“Yes. It’s better if they don’t see us coming.”

Omera nodded reluctantly. “We will take care of the children and watch for your return.”

The Mandalorian inclined his head, and moments later Korr was walking behind him as they headed out of the village. A faint boot path led up into the shadowy hills of the northern forest and they followed it into the encroaching darkness.


	8. Fight or Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all - please note the updated tag. There is brief section in this chapter that may be triggering to some, so please be aware of that. Otherwise, enjoy!

Within moments, the dense foliage of the Bannak trees had blotted out any light from the outside world.

Under different circumstances, Korr might have found the hiking pleasant. There had been nothing natural about the planet she’d grown up on. The surface of Coruscant was covered in a dense ecumenopolis, and thousands of years of civilization and development had long ago destroyed the planet’s natural geography. Even its weather patterns were affected and largely controlled by troposphere-piercing buildings, and a permanent haze hung over the cities.

This certainly would have been something that Owen would have enjoyed, if he was still alive. Instead, Korr found herself staring at the back of his murderer’s helmet as she trudged through the woods.

Neither she nor the Mandalorian spoke as they made their way deeper into the woods. They couldn’t use torches to light their way for fear of being detected and at first Korr tripped over every tree root and rock, but eventually her eyes adjusted to the gloominess. She was curious about the strategy that the Mandalorian had in mind – assuming he had a strategy – but she refused to ask him again.

After an hour of walking, the Mandalorian stopped abruptly and fiddled with his helmet. Korr waited patiently, listening for the sounds of leaves crunching underfoot, the clang of metal, or any other indication of unnatural movement in the trees.

The Mandalorian said quietly, “There’s a large heat source a little further down the trail – a fire, likely. That’s where they’ll be.”

“Okay. So what’s the plan?”

“I need you to distract them.”

“How?”

The Mandalorian cocked his head. “Say hello.”

His distrust of her was laid bare in his decision – instead of a two-pronged attack or coordinated effort, he had clearly chosen the strategy that required the least amount of reliance on her. It had an oddly humanizing effect on him. Finally, a decision based on human motivations and concerns that she could understand. If the roles had been reversed, she would have done the same thing.

Korr asked, “And then what?”

“When the time comes, fight, if you can. I assume you’ve used those daggers against more than just dragons. If things go south, take the girl back to the village and warn the others.”

“Do we have a signal or something…?”

“No,” he replied, in a tone that told Korr just how stupid of a question he thought that was.

She slid her daggers to the back of her belt, concealing them with her cloak, and started walking down the trail without a backwards glance at the Mandalorian. The fact that she was willingly walking into what was likely great danger at the request of her brother’s murderer wasn’t lost on her, and she briefly considered cutting into the woods and running – but the knowledge that there was an innocent girl just yards ahead, likely scared for her life, gave her pause.

Besides, she had nowhere else to go.

After a few minutes, the glow of a large fire became visible, followed by the sound of raucous laughter. Korr paused at the edge of a large clearing to take in the scene.

Several hunters lounged around a blazing fire. Korr counted seven, but according to Caben there were supposed to be a dozen at least. The others would be a problem if they were still unaccounted for by the time the action started. A young girl with curly dark hair – Winta, obviously – was sitting on the lap of a large Rodian. She looked terrified, but largely unhurt.

With a deep breath, Korr stepped out into the clearing and the conversation died down as the bounty hunters noticed the newcomer.

“What do we have here?” the Rodian asked, pushing the girl off of his lap as he stood up. She fell to the ground with a thud and a red-haired man reached over and hauled her up roughly by the arm.

Korr held up her hands in a gesture of deference. “I’m from the village,” she said quickly, stealing a look at the girl. Winta stared at her in confusion but had the good sense not to interject. “They sent me to tell you that the Mandalorian has returned. He’s on his way here now.”

“Is he, now? That was right quick.” He turned to one of the hunters. “Get the others back here.”

The man scurried off and Korr asked, “Please – can I take Winta back now?”

The Rodian, clearly the leader of the group, approached her. He was lean and wiry, with rough, pebbly green skin, a tapered snout, and the large, multifaceted eyes that were characteristic of his species. He grasped Korr’s chin roughly with long, sucker-tipped fingers and tilted her face up to his. She fought the urge to grab her knife and cut off the offending hand. He looked at her closely. “You’re not from the village. I’d remember a face as pretty as yours.”

The red-haired man holding Winta said, “Maybe we should send this one back and keep her instead.”

“Why not keep them both?” suggested another hunter. “We haven’t had any fun with the girl yet.”

The implication was clear and Korr tensed. The man pushed Winta toward his companion. “Go ahead. You don’t have much time before the Mandalorian shows up, but then you probably don’t need it, Barza.”

The man called Barza grinned and playfully tugged on the girl’s hair. She tried to pull away, but he slapped her across the face and grabbed a fistful of her tunic, ripping the sleeve off in the process. The girl started crying and he yanked her forward, raising his hand to hit her again.

Before she even realized she was doing it, Korr was holding a dagger to the Rodian’s throat. “Tell him to let her go.”

The Rodian smiled, seemingly unconcerned with this development. He said only, “You’re quick with a blade, for a krill farmer.”

Korr pressed the dagger against his skin, with just enough pressure to coax out a few bright red beads. “Let her go, and I won’t show you what else I can do with it.”

The Rodian raised a hand and the man holding Winta released her.

“Go back to the village,” Korr said to the girl. Winta didn’t budge and Korr repeated, “Go. Your mother is waiting for you.”

With one more fearful glance, the girl turned and ran into the woods. None of the bounty hunters gave chase.

Korr said to the Rodian, “The Mandalorian will be here soon.”

Even as she spoke, it occurred to her that if the Mandalorian was watching the scene unfold and knew that the girl had been set free, he might decide that taking on a dozen bounty hunters on Korr’s behalf wasn’t worth the risk.

The Rodian’s eyes narrowed. “Not soon enough for you, I’m afraid. Now drop your blade, or one of my companions here will shoot you where you stand.”

Korr felt the barrel of a blaster against the back of her head and her mouth went dry. She was out of options. She tossed her dagger on the ground. As soon as she did, the Rodian wrapped his long fingers around her throat and lifted her into the air. She struggled, her hands going to his fingers, trying to pry them apart. He only squeezed tighter.

She kicked out wildly, but her boots connected with nothing but air. She heard laughter and jeering from the other hunters. Too quickly, her vision started to tunnel and go dark. She fumbled for her other dagger, felt her fingers close around the hilt, pulled it free from its sheath with what felt like tremendous effort.

As if from a distance, she heard the sound of a blaster being fired and she braced herself for the hit. It never came. Instead, the hand around her neck relaxed and she fell heavily to the ground, desperately sucking in cold air. Her lungs that felt as if they’d been shredded by a thousand razor blades.

When her vision expanded, she realized that she was staring into the eyes of a dead man lying on the ground in front of her. Barza.

Korr got to her knees and retrieved her dagger. There was a fight raging around her, and she ducked as the body of a bounty hunter flew over her head. She crawled away from the fire and managed to stagger to her feet, turning to find the Mandalorian in full-fledged battle.

For a moment, all she could do was watch.

With a blaster in one hand, he blocked a punch from the red-haired man with the other, catching the offending arm around the wrist and twisting savagely until Korr heard bones crack. The man screamed in pain and the Mandalorian spun quickly, dragging him along by the broken arm, and kicked another attacker in the chest. As the second attacker stumbled backward, the Mandalorian flung the red-haired man at his companion, lifted his blaster, and fired two quick shots, taking them both down.

A third hunter, this one a Trandoshan, lunged at him with a large hunting axe and the Mandalorian dropped his gun, quickly bringing his vambraces up to block the attack as the Trandoshan drove the weapon downward. The force of the blow knocked the Mandalorian onto his back and he rolled to the side, just barely dodging the next thrust. The head of the axe lodged deeply into the earth and as the Trandoshan struggled to free it, the Mandalorian pulled a knife out of his shin guard and stabbed him in the neck.

He moved as if he was made up of pure instinct, as if his body was responding to the rhythm of the fight before his brain had the chance to comprehend it. There was a grace to his movements and Korr couldn’t help but feel that she was watching a dance – a dance to the tune of a bloody ballad that only the Mandalorian could hear.

A fourth man was standing in front of Korr and now he raised his blaster in the Mandalorian’s direction. She lunged at him, landing on his back as he fired. The shot went wide, glancing off of the Mandalorian’s shoulder pauldron with a loud _ping_. Korr crossed her wrists and dragged both daggers outward across the man’s throat, ignoring the pain that issued from her injured arm as she did so. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Now the Rodian advanced toward the Mandalorian, holding a blade in each hand. Rodians often dipped their weapons in poison, and Korr hoped that the Mandalorian was good at evading knife strikes.

“I’ve been looking forward to killing you for a long time,” the Rodian said with a sneer. He spat on the ground at the Mandalorian’s feet. “Guild _traitor_.”

The Mandalorian didn’t respond to that.

They circled each other warily. Suddenly, the Rodian lunged forward, landing a jagged strike across the Mandalorian’s chest plate and filling the air with the shrill screech of metal upon metal. The Mandalorian blocked his next attack with his left vambrace and countered with a quick punch to his opponent’s midsection. The Rodian doubled over and the Mandalorian darted in to land another blow, this time to the side of the Rodian’s head. The hunter snarled and lashed out with one of his daggers, slashing the Mandalorian across the arm. He staggered back with a grunt of pain and Korr felt her heart sink. If the blade was indeed laced with poison, the Mandalorian would be dead within minutes.

“I’m going to take that helmet off before I kill you,” the Rodian said. “I want to see the look in your eyes as you die.”

He lunged forward again and the Mandalorian fired a grappling hook from his vambrace. It wrapped around his opponent’s neck and he yanked hard, sending the Rodian flying into a nearby tree.

In an instant, the Mandalorian had a boot on the hunter’s arm, immobilizing it. The Rodian brought up his other arm to strike but the Mandalorian grabbed it, twisting his wrist until he was forced to drop the blade. Without any additional fanfare, he picked up the dropped dagger and drove it straight through the Rodian’s forehead.

Korr counted the bodies as the Mandalorian stood up. “There are only seven here. Where are the others?”

He looked at her but before he could respond, a flash of red laser fire lit up the darkness as a round slammed into the Mandalorian, knocking him to the ground. Korr whirled in the direction of the shot as another hunter, this one a human male, emerged from the shadows, followed by four others. They all had blasters raised and pointed in their direction.

The Mandalorian started to get to his feet and the man said, “I’d stay down if I were you.”

He stepped over the body of the Rodian as he drew closer. “I’ve heard that Mandalorians are the greatest warriors in the galaxy. It seems that reputation is not unwarranted. No wonder the bounty on you is so high.”

The Mandalorian remained on his knees as the remaining bounty hunters drew closer. Korr was pretty sure that the blaster round had been stopped by his armor – but it was impossible to tell if he had been injured otherwise. She gripped her daggers tightly.

She knew now that letting the bounty hunters kill the Mandalorian was no longer an option. As soon as they were done with him, they’d come after her – and while she was fairly confident that she could handle two or even three of them, there was no way she’d be able to disable all five of them before one managed to shoot her. She stood by tensely, waiting for an opening or a signal from the Mandalorian.

The hunter pointed his blaster at the Mandalorian’s head. “You’re only half of the bounty. Where is the old guy?”

_The old guy?_

The Mandalorian remained silent, his head bowed, arms still at his sides.

The man beckoned to the others and they crowded in closer.

Korr saw several blue lights flash brightly on the Mandalorian’s vambrace. A split-second later, the stillness was interrupted by a series of high-pitched whistles as several projectiles launched into the air, seeking their targets.

Another split-second later, the rest of the bounty hunters were dead. Smoke rose from the bodies.

The Mandalorian stood up. He kicked one of the bodies over and bent to retrieve the blaster that he’d dropped earlier in the fight.

Korr said to him, “You should have led with that.”


	9. An Outside Chance

Every time Din used a cauterizer – and he used them often – it was a reminder that sometimes the cure was worse than the disease.

Now he grimaced as he brought the tool to his arm once more. The Rodian’s blade had cut him deeply, and the sleeve of his tunic was soaked with blood. The smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils. He gritted his teeth as he finished sealing the wound.

In the background, he heard the child babbling. He looked up wearily to see him standing in his crib, watching attentively.

“No,” Din said.

The foundling frowned at him.

When it was over, he exhaled a long, shaky breath and dropped the cauterizer onto the bed beside him.

“Are you alright?”

Omera and her daughter stood in the doorway of the cottage. The girl was clutching her mother’s skirt.

“I’m fine.”

Omera sat down beside him and studied the wound. “That looks serious. Shall I get some bandages?”

“No. The cauterizer has done most of the work.” In truth, he barely noticed the pain of the wound after having used the cauterizer. His ribs hurt more than anything else; the last blaster round had hit him squarely in the chest plate.

If recent events were any indication, they would probably never have time to fully heal.

Winta had soundlessly followed her mother into the cottage and Din looked at the girl with some sympathy. An examination of her condition had not indicated any physical injury, but he knew, better than most, that the psychological trauma from her ordeal would take a long time to heal. He told her, “The kid’s been waiting to play with you.”

That coaxed a smile from her, and she walked over to the wooden crib. Din heard the child coo a greeting as Winta knelt down in front of him.

When he turned back to Omera, he realized that she’d been watching him. She said softly, as much to herself as to him, “She’ll be alright. It could have been much worse. It _would_ have been, had your friend not done what she did.”

Din looked at her and somehow she must have sensed his surprise because she explained, “She intervened when they started to…get rough. Winta told me that she attacked the leader with a knife. She forced him to let her go.”

Din had assumed that the girl had escaped undetected while the bounty hunters had been preoccupied by Korr’s arrival, and it surprised him that the young woman would have put herself at risk by initiating a violent encounter. She had been a reluctant ally at best, and when he’d sent her ahead to distract the bounty hunters, he’d half-expected her to double back to the village instead.

Omera let her hand linger on his arm. “I can’t thank you enough. For coming back. For bringing my daughter home.”

There it was again – that misplaced gratitude. Din was almost angry at her for having it. He said, “It would have been better if I had never come to Sorgan.”

“If you had never come to Sorgan, our village would be in ashes and many of us would have died at the hands of the Klatooinians a long time ago.” She gave him a sad smile. “At some point, you have to stop blaming yourself for everything that happens to the people around you. It must be an exhausting thing, to live like that.”

Omera turned to watch her daughter for a few moments, as if to reassure herself of her presence. Din knew that she would be doing that for a long time to come.

After a moment, she turned back to him. “You must be tired. You’ll stay here tonight?”

“Yes, if that’s alright.”

“Of course. You’re always welcome here.” She hesitated, as if about to say more, then seemed to think better of it and stood up.

“Come, Winta. It’s late. We should let the Mandalorian and the little one rest.”

Winta stared at Din as she walked toward the door of the cottage, then shyly broke away from her mother and went to him, wrapping her arms around his neck in a hug. Human touch still felt oddly foreign to him, but he brought his arm up around her and returned the gesture in the way that he knew he was expected to.

After they had left the cottage, Din stood up and walked over to the foundling. The child was laying down, looking up at him with sleepy, blinking eyes. The sleeve of his robe had gotten twisted up around his arm and Din pulled it back down, then pressed the coarse blanket into the crib around him.

A shadow passed across the wall in front of him and he whirled around, one hand going to his blaster.

Korr was standing in the doorway, and she looked as skittish as he felt.

“Sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all.

Din gave the child a final glance – he was already fast asleep – and went to join Korr on the front steps of the cabin.

She looked tense. She had taken a man’s life, and he knew that could be a difficult thing to come to terms with. Then again, he’d seen the practiced ease with which she had wielded those daggers. It likely hadn’t been her first time.

Korr asked, “I just came to ask about your plans. We’re staying here tonight, I assume?”

“Yes. We’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

“For Coruscant?”

Din nodded. “With one refueling stop, we can be there in just over a day.”

Korr seemed appeased by that information. She glanced at his bandaged arm. “You got lucky tonight. Normally Rodians dip their blades in white fieljine poison.”

And he’d used the last of his antivenom to save _her_ life back on Arvala-7. The irony was not lost on him.

She asked him, “Who’s the old guy that hunter was asking about?”

He hesitated. “He was talking about the child.”

“What?”

“The child is fifty years old. That’s the only information, beyond the tracking fob, that’s being given to the hunters who are looking for him.”

“He’s fifty years old?” she repeated incredulously. “He’s just a kid. He can’t even talk.”

“Yes. No one seems to know much about his species, but his kind may live for centuries.” Thinking of what Omera had told him a few moments ago, he asked, “Why did you put yourself at risk to help the girl?”

Korr shrugged and looked away from him, out at the darkened village. There was a full moon overhead and it cast an eerie silver glow on the small ponds.

“They were going to hurt her, for no other reason than that she was there.” There was a bitterness to her voice that surprised him. “Those bounty hunters were no different from the rapists, kidnappers, and murderers that they were supposed to bring to justice.”

Din wondered what experience she’d had with hunters that had told her to expect otherwise.

She said, “They were a disgrace to the Guild.”

“Most bounty hunters are.”

Korr turned to him then. In the moonlight, he noticed her eyes for the first time – they were a luminous gray color, the shade of a Harterran opal, and filled with a hatred so pure and undiluted that it was startling.

He felt the irrational urge to go for his blaster.

She said only, “Some. Not most.”

* * *

The next day, Korr was still angry.

She was used to being angry; in fact, sometimes it felt like she was better at being angry than at anything else. There had always been things in her life that fueled that anger.

The fact that she’d been born a girl, for one.

She’d had to beg her father to teach her the things that he had been so excited to teach Owen – how to fly a starship, how to navigate through deep space and off-world, how to spar and defend and attack. The only reason he’d agreed to give her lessons was because Owen had refused to take his seriously without her – partly because he was her brother, and partly because she was smarter than him and he liked to cheat off her answers during their flight tests.

Korr was angry, too, when Owen went off to join the Guild and she wasn’t allowed to go with him. It was too dangerous, her mother had said, for a girl. There were marauding bands of reapers, slavers who hid in dark alleys, cheats and cons and scum lords who wouldn’t hesitate to slit your throat for the cloak on your back. It didn’t matter how good Korr was with a knife, or that she was a better pilot than Owen. All that mattered was that she was female.

Often, it seemed as if the only person she didn’t hate most of the time was her brother; but she’d been furious with him, too, when he’d set off without her.

“I can’t wait any longer. We need the money now,” he’d said to her, pleading, before he left. “You want to spend the rest of your life inhaling factory fumes and living below ground like rats? Don’t be mad. Once I’ve been doing it for a while, Ma and Dad will see that it’s not so bad – especially when the money buys our way into the skyscrapers. We’ll get them to come around. You’ll be riding around the galaxy with me in no time.”

“You’ll be riding with _me_ ,” Korr had responded grudgingly, and Owen had laughed and put a gangly arm around her.

She’d been angry with him when he left, but mostly she had just missed him.

She missed him still, but she knew that he was never coming back.

When Owen had been killed, Korr had craved vengeance the way a dying man in the desert craved water. She wanted revenge, at any cost, against the man responsible for her brother’s death. So she had stolen a starfighter and set off in the middle of the night, promising herself that she wouldn’t return home until she had accomplished that goal.

If she was being completely honest with herself, she had hoped that this newfound desire might allow her to fulfill another – one to leave home for distant, unknown worlds, to find purpose among the stars.

Now, she sat on a crate in the cargo bay with her elbows on her knees. She was just hours away from returning to Coruscant on the ship of the man who had murdered her brother, and she had not accomplished any of what she had set out to do.

But she would. Events were unfolding differently than she’d imagined, but she had devised a new plan after discovering why the little green child looked so familiar to her – and it still ended with the Mandalorian dead and the Asset back on Nevarro.

The _how_ of killing him remained to be seen, but Korr knew with certainty after seeing him in action on Sorgan that she’d never beat him in a fair fight. Her best bet was to let him land his ship on Coruscant and find a way to get the jump on him once they were on-world. It would be easy enough. Galactic City had no shortage of dark, lonely corners and alleyways.

She could sell his armor after he was dead and use the proceeds to buy another starfighter on Coruscant quite easily.

After a moment’s hesitation, Korr pulled the comm link that the Moff had given her out of her utility belt and activated it. There was a hiss of static on the other end of the line and she said, “It’s me.”

The Moff’s voice came through clearly. “Yes. Where are you?”

“I’m with the Mandalorian. We’re about to dock on Coruscant.”

If he was impressed that she had managed to gain access to the Mandalorian so quickly, he didn’t say anything. “And the Asset?”

Korr glanced at the child. He was standing in the storage compartment that seemed to serve as his crib – at least, when he wasn’t in the cockpit with the Mandalorian – holding the little silver knob that he had been playing with the other day. Staring at her. She turned away, feeling a sense of unease.

“You never told me that he was a child.”

There was a pause. “I fail to see why that should matter. Have you found the opportunity that you were looking for?”

“No. We ran into bounty hunters on Sorgan. They were after him, too.”

“I never promised you an exclusive contract.”

“Well, it’s making things more difficult. I won’t be able to bring the Asset back to you if people are constantly trying to kill me.”

“You need to work faster, then.” The Moff added, “The tracking fob has not pinpointed the Asset’s current location yet, so it would appear you have some time.”

“How long?”

“Hard to say – it depends on how close the nearest fob is to your location. Perhaps a day, perhaps a week.”

_Great_.

The Moff said, “I’ll expect to hear from you shortly.”

Korr turned off the comm link and slipped it back into her pocket. She felt dirty, as if she had just bathed in mud. She stood up, trying to shake off the sense of displeasure, and walked over to the foundling.

For a fifty-year-old being, he was awfully cute.

Omera’s words came to her mind, unbidden. _He is innocent, and he needs to be protected._

With a trusting look, the child held the knob out to her.

“What do you have there?” she asked, letting him drop it into her hand. It looked like part of a ship’s instrument. She wondered whether he had taken it, or if the Mandalorian had given it to him.

The child cocked his head and looked up at her. “Ah…?”

She heard footsteps and a moment later, the Mandalorian’s boots appeared on one of the lower rungs of the ladder that accessed the upper level of the ship. He jumped down into the cargo bay and strode past her.

“We’ll be there in a few hours.”

Korr returned the knob to the child. “Does he have a name?”

“No.”

“Where did you find him?”

The Mandalorian didn’t respond, which wasn’t surprising considering the fact that he’d stolen him.

Korr pressed him. “What is he?”

“I don’t know.” He looked at the child, then back at her. “Do you?”

“No.” He turned away and she said casually, “But I’ve seen his kind before.”

Her words had the desired effect and the Mandalorian turned back to her sharply. “Where?”

“I grew up on Coruscant, remember? The Jedi Temple is on Coruscant. Everyone has heard of Master Yoda.”

The Mandalorian was quiet and she continued, “He looks just like this kid. Well, not nearly as cute…but he has the same floppy ears and wrinkly green skin.”

He was still staring at her and she knew that her gamble had paid off.

Korr feigned innocence. “Wait. Is that why you’re going to Coruscant – to go to the Jedi Temple? Are you taking the child there?”

He didn’t reply. She could almost feel his unease, even under the several layers of armor.

“You’ll stick out like a sore thumb. Most Coruscantis have never seen a Mandalorian in real life.”

“I’ll manage.”

“Hopefully that doesn’t mean killing anyone who looks at you the wrong way,” Korr replied. She considered waiting until after they had visited the Jedi Temple before making her move. She was curious to learn whether her theory about the child was correct; and understanding more about his origin would give her additional leverage over the Imperial Moff if it was ever needed.

She knew she couldn’t afford to pass up an opportunity if it presented itself, though. She could always take the child to the Jedi Temple herself afterward.

Now she said, “I can help you dock on-planet without attracting attention. This isn’t some remote skug hole on the Outer Rim. The Port Authority monitors the airspace around Coruscant, and you’ll have to request permission to land at a mooring tower.”

“I’ve docked on planets before.”

“I can help you find a quiet place to land,” Korr said, “one that doesn’t need their permission, if you know what I mean. I assume you don’t want the P.A. crawling all over your ship performing an inspection.” She paused. “And I grew up not far from the Temple District. I know all of the backstreets and alleys there. I can help you get to the Temple undetected.”

The Mandalorian studied her. “What’s in it for you?”

Korr had thought this through, as well. “I need a new starfighter,” she said. “But I don’t have enough credits. I’ll get you to the Jedi Temple, and you pay me for my services. Think of me as a guide.”

After a long, measured pause, the Mandalorian nodded. “Fine.”


	10. A Stillness

Coruscant had served as the capital of the galaxy ever since the time of the Old Republic. It was strategically located at the end of several major trade routes, and this had enabled it to become a hub of galactic culture, education, finance, fine arts, politics, and technology. It had continued to serve as the capital under the Empire and though the New Republic had broken with millennia of tradition and refused to establish Coruscant as their headquarters, it remained an important center of commercial trade and culture.

It felt strange, being back.

Korr hadn’t left home that long ago, but already things felt different. The city, once so familiar, seemed both impossibly larger and somehow diminished from what she remembered. Changed, somehow.

Perhaps she was the one who had changed.

Under her direction, the Mandalorian had piloted his ship to an old mech yard on the outskirts of Galactic City and parked it alongside the abandoned wrecks of other spacecrafts. The couple of credits that it cost him were well worth it, as they were able to land without attracting an attention from the Port Authority. Initially, the Mandalorian had shown every intention of staying on his ship until the next morning, but Korr had convinced him to seek food.

“There’s a tavern just there, on the outskirts of the city. We could – “

“No.”

“Fine, but don’t you think you should feed the kid at some point? He hasn’t eaten since we left Sorgan.”

The Mandalorian didn’t reply to that, but she had seen him look over at the child as if he’d forgotten that he did, indeed, need to eat occasionally. Whatever had motivated him to steal the child back from the Imp on Nevarro, it hadn’t been an instinct to nurture.

It was late, and the streets were quiet as she and the Mandalorian made their way into the city. He had foregone his two-pronged rifle for the trip, but Korr knew that he had plenty of other ways to kill someone if he needed to. The child was cradled in the crook of the Mandalorian’s arm and the hood of his cloak had been pulled up over his head to protect against curious gazes.

“Have you been to Coruscant before?” Korr asked as she led them down a narrow alley. The Mandalorian stared straight ahead, but she got the sense that he was taking in every angle, every shadow, every potential threat.

“Once. It was enough.”

“This is paradise compared to the underworld,” Korr said, and a deep bitterness rose up within her. “That’s where things get really bad.”

Galactic City was made up of dense city blocks built on top of each other – there were over five thousand levels total. At their highest, the city’s skyscrapers reached 6,000 meters into the atmosphere. The wealthiest members of society lived up there, breathing fresh, filtered air, while the poorer, below-ground inhabitants were relegated to inhaling toxic fumes from factories and vehicular waste.

Korr and her family lived in the underlevels, hundreds of stories below the skyscraper pinnacles – she hadn’t seen the light of day until she was five years old, when her parents had taken her and her brother to the surface markets above. The underworld’s neighborhoods existed at the mercy of hired thugs and extortionists, riddled with vermin and subjected to the constant rumbling of the machines that served the elite above.

Coruscant’s underworld toughened the strong and consumed the weak, which is why Korr had always found it ironic that her parents believed that bounty hunting was too dangerous. Her upbringing had not only prepared her for a life of violence; it had uniquely qualified her for one.

Now, she forced those thoughts from her mind and turned to the present opportunity. The alley was completely deserted save for her and the Mandalorian, and the sickly light of the overhead streetlamps provided poor and scattered lighting from above.

The Mandalorian was very close, and one of his arms was currently occupied by the child.

A thrill, equal parts frenzy and fear, sent a shiver through her body.

Korr let her hand fall to the hilt of her dagger. She had seen the vulnerable gaps in his armor and knew that she needed to aim for the neck, the bunch of fabric that encircled his throat below the helmet. She slowed her pace ever so slightly, so that she fell just an inch or two behind him.

The moment had come, and her heart was racing. She took a deep breath to steady herself, pulled her knife free from its holster.

She thought of her twin.

_For you, Owen._

Just as she was about to raise her arm to attack, a strange sensation of warmth filled her body. Suddenly her limbs felt heavy, as if weighted down by some invisible force; and there was the sense of something being barricaded within her mind. Korr tried again to lift her arm and realized with alarm that it was all she could do to simply hold onto the blade.

The urgency of the moment dissipated abruptly and all she was left with was a sort of muddled purpose. She knew what she had been trying to do just a second ago but oddly enough it no longer seemed important. It was only a faint shadow of what it had been. Trying to recall her anger and intention suddenly felt as if she was trying to remember a moment in her life that had occurred decades earlier.

Korr managed to turn her head toward the Mandalorian. He seemed completely oblivious to what was going on. Her gaze landed on the child. The hood had fallen back to reveal his face.

He was staring directly at her. His wide-eyed gaze, no longer so perfectly innocent – there was something else there now. An…understanding.

Korr could only stare back, wordlessly.

The alleyway gave way to a larger thoroughfare and the garish light of a streetlamp flooded her senses from above. In a moment, she felt her consciousness return fully, felt herself regain control of her body. She quickly replaced her dagger in its sheath, aware that the moment had been lost.

“Where is this tavern?” the Mandalorian asked, jarring her fully back to the present. She shook her head to clear it and scanned her surroundings, finding a small, nondescript wooden door in the row of buildings.

She pointed, finding difficulty in forming words. “…there.”

The small, unnamed cantina was located near the markets and conducted most of its business during the day, drawing shoppers looking for a quick reprieve from the chaos of the streets. Now, its dimly lit interior was mostly empty, save for a few weary travelers and two large Chistori sitting at a table in the corner.

Korr had come here with Owen on occasion. The fact that she now found herself here with the man who had killed her brother was not lost on her; and yet, she found that she was too unsettled by what had just happened to dwell on that.

They found an empty table and the Mandalorian ordered a bowl of bone broth from the droid that approached them. For the child, likely. Korr asked for a loaf of five blossom bread, motivated less by hunger and more by a desire to regain some sense of control over her current circumstances.

“Nothing for you?” she asked the Mandalorian, and he shook his head, openly studying the Chistori sitting at the far end of the tavern. They were carefully looking at each other as they talked, but she saw one of them steal a furtive glance in their direction.

Korr continued to look at him. “You don’t eat?”

It seemed like a valid question. After all, she hadn’t seen him eat so far. She still wasn’t sure that he was even human.

When he finally looked at her, however, she somehow knew that he was wearing an expression of disdain beneath his helmet. “I’m not hungry.”

Which implied, of course, that he _did_ eat. The response did not invite further inquiry. The Mandalorian went back to studying the Chistori and Korr looked at the child sitting on the stool beside him. He returned her gaze, looking perfectly adorable and innocent once more.

Had she imagined the whole thing?

She recalled the odd feeling of paralysis and knew that she had not.

The droid delivered their food and the Mandalorian slid the bowl of bone broth over to the child, who promptly leaned forward until his face was nearly in the soup and began to slurp it up with loud, satisfied noises.

Korr pulled out one of her knives and sliced off a chunk of bread.

“Your daggers,” the Mandalorian said. “Where did you get them?”

She looked up, startled. Had he just asked her a question?

“My father. He’s a metalworker.” She ripped off a piece of the golden-brown pastry and pushed it into her mouth. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she had smelled the aroma of freshly baked bread. “Most of his time is spent making things for rich people, but occasionally he has the time to make other things as well.”

“Those are Tehk’la blades.”

“Yes,” Korr said. She was momentarily impressed by his knowledge but reminded herself that Mandalorians, legendary for their fighting prowess, embraced a culture that centered around violence. Naturally he would know about every weapon in the galaxy.

With an uncharacteristic politeness that likely came more from a respect for the weapons than anything else, he asked, “May I?”

Her first instinct was to say no – after all, she’d been about to kill him with one of her blades less than an hour ago – but she nodded reluctantly.

The Mandalorian picked up the dagger with a gloved hand and positioned it lengthwise on his finger, admiring its balance and the curve of the blade. Tehk’la blades were individually crafted for the owner of the weapon, and Korr wondered if his careful analysis of it was somehow revealing things about her that she would prefer remain unknown.

He replaced the dagger on the table. “Did your father teach you how to use them?”

“No.” She had learned that on her own.

“How many have you killed with them?”

It felt like an oddly personal question from a man whose name she didn’t even know. Perhaps in Mandalorian circles small talk centered around number of kills rather than hobbies. She replied, “Enough.”

He seemed to be satisfied with that response. The child was struggling to reach the last dregs of soup in the bowl and the Mandalorian reached over and tilted the bowl up to him. Korr chewed on a piece of bread slowly and watched the exchange with interest. Despite his obvious lack of parenting skills, the Mandalorian seemed to feel genuine affection for the kid. She didn’t quite know what to make of that.

She thought again of what had occurred in the alley and asked, as nonchalantly as she could, “The child. Does he have Force capabilities?”

The Mandalorian looked at her sharply and she said, “Master Yoda does, and you’re taking him to the Jedi Temple, so….”

He didn’t respond for a long time. Finally, in an answer that wasn’t really an answer at all, he said, “I’m trying to reunite him with his kind.”

That was a lie, obviously. Why would a Mandalorian bounty hunter be willing to break a contract, turn against his own Guild, and go to such great lengths to stay one step ahead of other hunters simply to return a random child to its parents?

No, he had other motives. He clearly wasn’t going to share them with her, but Korr would have bet her next starfighter that it had to do with the fact that the child was Force-sensitive.

She felt a pang of sympathy for the kid, then, despite what he had just done to her. He seemed destined for a life of unhappiness and great peril, to be pursued by selfish men who wanted only to use his powers to further their own ambitions. Maybe the Mandalorian showed him the occasional kindness, but he was still no different from the Imp who had hired her to bring him back.

Korr knew intellectually what had transpired in the alley, even if she didn’t fully understand it. The child had intervened and prevented her from acting on her intentions by using some strange form of mental manipulation. That was interesting in and of itself because it indicated that he had developed enough affection for the Mandalorian to want to protect him.

She knew she’d missed her chance to kill him tonight, but in light of what had happened in the alley, maybe that wasn’t a total defeat. After experiencing the child’s strange mind trick, Korr knew she needed to learn more about him.

The Jedi would be able to give her those answers.


	11. The Temple

Given the choice between winding through the crowded surface streets of Coruscant’s markets or fighting off a group of bounty hunters, Din would have been hard-pressed to choose the former. It was late morning, and the city was a far cry from the relative quiet of the night before. The alleys were packed with stalls overflowing with merchandise, pushy vendors, and harried customers. The air was hot and humid, ripe with the intermingling smells of heavy spices and _people_ , and Din was sweating inside his armor.

The city symbolized everything he despised about civilization – the inequity between the rich and the poor; the brutal existence of those who slaved their entire lives performing menial labor in service to the wealthy; the crushing number of inhabitants fighting for every square inch of living space; the filth and the squalor and the noise.

Give him the silent, barren wastelands of the Arvalan desert and a hundred Jawas to fight any day.

Korr, on the other hand, was in her element. She wove effortlessly through the crowd and Din had to struggle to keep up with her. He had the kid tucked under one arm with his hood pulled closely around his face to conceal him from curious gazes, and every time someone bumped into him or inadvertently snagged part of his cloak as they passed, he had to fight off the urge to pull out his blaster and shoot the offender in the head.

The girl was sharp, and Din was irritated at himself for not realizing it sooner. The grudging respect he had developed for her after the battle on Sorgan had caused him to let down his guard, and it had cost him. Korr had made the connection between the foundling and the Jedi with alarming speed, and she was clearly aware that there was something special about the kid. Whether or not there was more to her casual inquiries about the child than just mere curiosity, he knew that the more who knew about the kid’s existence, the more dangerous the world became for him.

She could be dangerous, too – he had seen her skill with her daggers.

Initially he had intended to separate from her as soon as they had arrived on Sorgan, but now he felt compelled to keep her close – if only to observe her for a while longer and confirm that she posed no threat to the child.

Korr turned down a narrow alley and glanced back to make sure that he was still following her. Her gaze lingered on the helmet. “What’s it like, wearing that thing all the time? Doesn’t it get hot?”

Sweat trickled down the back of his neck. “Yes.”

“Why don’t you take it off?”

“I can’t.”

She looked at him. “Ever?”

“I can remove it when I’m alone. Not in front of others.”

She hesitated, picking up on his irritation, and then let her curiosity get the better of her. “What would happen if you did?”

“This is the way of my people. Wearing the helmet signifies that we are Mandalorian, and not what we may appear to be underneath. If I was to remove my helmet and show my face to another living being, I would break the code and lose the right to ever put it back on again.”

“But hasn’t it been difficult – to go through life without letting anyone see your face? How do you…?”

He didn’t reply.

Korr said, “That’s some serious self-discipline.”

Another pedestrian jostled against him and nearly knocked the kid out of his arm. He whirled around, ready to knock the daylights out of the offender – and felt someone approach from the other direction and grab the child from him.

“You’re making me nervous,” Korr muttered, wrapping a protective arm over the foundling. “You need to hold him closer in crowds like this.”

“Give him – “

“No. We’ll make better time this way, and I don’t want to have to worry about you shooting off some poor old woman’s head because she accidentally bumped into you.”

Din frowned, thought about arguing further, but the kid seemed happy enough being carried by his new friend – and being relieved of his weight had freed up both hands to respond to a sudden threat or attack if needed.

The throngs of inhabitants pressing in around him were generally too preoccupied with getting to their destinations to notice much else, but Din was aware of the lingering glances and odd looks that he drew from the occasional passerby.

Another wave of irritation swept over him and he said, “I thought you knew how to get to the Temple without drawing attention.”

“There are over a trillion inhabitants on Coruscant. This is us not drawing attention. It’s not my fault that you’re a wearing fifty pounds of shiny Beskar. Most of these people haven’t seen a Mandalorian in real life before, and that huge rifle slung across your back probably isn’t helping, either.”

Eventually, the narrow alleys started to open up onto wider promenades and the dense high-rises gave way to smaller, shorter buildings, alleviating the claustrophobic feel of the markets. This area was quieter, dotted with statues and small parks and bisected by a long, broad avenue.

Din took a deep breath because he finally felt like he could.

“We’re in the Temple Precinct now,” Korr said, handing the child back to him. She gestured to the road in front of them. “That’s the Processional Way, and it’ll take us right to the Jedi Temple.”

Indeed, after a few moments of following the road, the Temple itself came into view. It was an impressive structure, constructed of light, whitewashed stone, and it towered above the other buildings in the area. The main entrance was decorated with twelve massive pylons, all adorned with depictions of what Din assumed were celebrated stories from the Jedi’s history, and crowned by four large statues.

As if reading his thoughts, Korr said, “Those are the Warrior Masters and the Sage Masters of the Jedi Order.”

Din only nodded. His sense of unease grew with every step.

They walked up the stairs and through the main entrance of the temple. The heat of the day was immediately replaced with a deep, pervasive coolness, likely due to the thick stone construction of the building. The interior of the temple was vast, with towering ceilings and a massive central nave punctuated by fat pillars. Beams of light streamed into the chamber through tall, arched windows, illuminating the dust motes in the air. A few others strolled around, engaged in hushed conversation.

Everything felt wrong. Din didn’t belong here, in the home of the Jedi. He glanced down at the foundling to see if he was showing any signs of recognition or familiarity, any indication that he felt some otherworldly sense of belonging, but he looked as content as ever.

“So, how do we find them?” Korr asked, looking around.

He said, more sharply than he had intended, “I’m assuming they won’t like it if we blast our way into the inner sanctuary.”

She ignored him and nodded toward a man who was walking toward them. “Maybe he can help us.”

Din pulled the foundling’s hood over his head as the man approached. He was dressed in a thick, hooded cloak with a dark brown belt knotted around his waist and wore long dark hair tied back from his face.

“Welcome, travelers,” he said warmly. He had piercingly bright amber eyes that seemed to take in everything around him. “My name is Master Arvel. What brings you to our Temple?”

It had been a mistake to come here. Din found himself silently cursing Kuiil.

Korr, sensing Din’s reluctance, said, “We’re looking for Master Yoda.”

The man gazed at her for a moment, then turned to Din. “You are a Mandalorian. We do not see many of your kind on Coruscant – even fewer here in the Temple.”

“Perhaps that’s because you destroyed our planet.”

Years of war between the Mandalorians and the Jedi had eventually reduced the once hospitable planet of Mandalore to a lifeless white desert, uninhabitable outside of hermetically sealed dome cities. Now, Din reflected bitterly, the Jedi flourished in their fortress on Coruscant while the Mandalorians scratched out a meager existence in clandestine enclaves scattered across the galaxy.

Arvel nodded. “That was a tragic war with heavy losses sustained on both sides. I believe that the only lesson learned from all of the bloodshed was that we are more alike than we are different.”

The child in Din’s arms shifted, and the man’s gaze was drawn to the movement. “But that was a long time ago, and I’m certain you did not come to the Temple to relive our shared history.”

As if on cue, the child squirmed again – and the hood fell back from his face. Arvel stared at the child with undisguised shock.

There was a long silence during which Din considered pulling his blaster and shooting his way out.

Finally, Korr spoke. “ _This_ is why we are looking for Master Yoda. Will you take us to him?”

Arvel, still stunned by the sight of the foundling, didn’t respond immediately. Finally, he said quietly, “Please, come with me. We must speak privately.”

“We can speak here,” Din replied coolly.

“Of course, but I must take him to – “

“No,” Din said, and tightened his grip around the child. His hand found the butt of his pistol.

Korr glanced at him. “The child stays with us. But we’d like to speak to Master Yoda about him.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible. No one has seen Grand Master Yoda for several years. We believe he…he may be dead.”

“Dead?” Korr repeated, and Din heard the disbelief in her voice.

The Jedi nodded. “He was believed to be over 900 years old. That is old by any species’ standards.”

“And his species? What do you know about them?”

“Nothing, unfortunately,” Arvel replied, and Din’s heart sank. “His kind has never been recorded, and Master Yoda did not speak to us of his home world.”

The disappointment was crushing. He had come all the way to Coruscant, putting the child at risk in the process by revealing his existence to the Jedi – and within mere minutes he had learned that they knew nothing more than he did.

“Tell me,” Arvel said. “Has the youngling exhibited any special abilities in the time that he has been with you?”

“Yes.” Something made Din wary of revealing the extent of the child’s powers.

The Jedi nodded. “All known members of his kind have had extraordinary Force potential.”

“All?”

“Yes. Granted, we have not known many.” The Jedi continued, “We believe that it’s likely that they originate from one of the unknown regions of the galaxy, perhaps where an abundance of natural navigational hazards have stymied attempts to map and explore the region thus far.”

He studied the child. “I’d ask if you’ve come to relinquish his care to us, but it’s clear that you have not.”

“No.” Maybe that had been a passing thought in Din’s mind after speaking with Kuiil, but it wasn’t any longer. He said, “I intend to return him to his people.”

“That will be difficult, considering you don’t know where he comes from.”

Din didn’t reply.

After a moment, Arvel asked, “Will you tell me how you came to be in possession of this child?”

“I was hired by an Imperial remnant based on Nevarro to recover him.”

“You are a bounty hunter?”

“I was.” Din hesitated, remembering the conversation he’d overheard between the doctor and the Client the night he had returned for the foundling. “The man who sought the child intended to harvest some kind of material from him. There was a doctor traveling with him.”

The guilt he felt for allowing that to happen haunted him still.

Arvel nodded, unsurprised. “Midi-chlorians.”

Korr frowned. “Midi-whats?”

“Midi-chlorians – microscopic, intelligent life forms that live symbiotically inside the cells of all living things. There are some who believe that when these life forms are present in sufficient numbers, they can allow their host to detect the Force.” Arvel paused. “It sounds like your doctor may have been trying to extract these life forms – perhaps with the intention of transferring them to another being in an attempt to give them Force capabilities.”

This made sense to Din. While he had been imprisoned by Gideon, the Moff had indicated that his plans for the child did _not_ involve turning him over to the Empire. He had spoken of the need for a powerful leader to unite the Imperial warlords who had scattered after the end of the Civil War; and an individual capable of wielding the Force would certainly fit that description.

Arvel asked, “If this Imperial remnant managed to get their hands on the child, how did he come to end up back in your care? I assume they would not have given him up easily.”

“They didn’t,” Din said.

Korr stared at him.

“Well, they are aware of his existence. They will keep coming for him.”

“Yes.”

“How do you intend to keep him safe?”

Din didn’t reply.

“It would be best if you would leave the youngling with us. We can train him. We can teach him how to hone his abilities, how to harness the power of the Force. In time, he will not need anyone to protect him.”

“At what cost?”

Arvel nodded. “It’s true that the Jedi Order requires some sacrifice on the part of the student. It’s not so different from the Way of the Mandalore in that regard. But if you don’t allow us to teach him, he may never learn how to use his powers for good. If he is as sensitive to the Force as the other members of his species, and if he ever strays to the dark side – well, the galaxy may not survive that.”

In his mind’s eye, Din saw the decimated army of Moff Gideon – hundreds of stormtroopers, flung across the battlefield with such force that they had been piled on top of each other, like ragged pieces of bone-white kindling.

Din looked down at the foundling, who was gazing around at his surroundings with obvious interest. He tried to imagine a darkness in the child, a capacity to use his powers in service to dark intentions.

But the child had only ever used his powers for good – to protect Din, to heal others.

His chest tightened painfully at the thought of leaving him with the Jedi. That couldn’t be the answer.

Arvel, sensing Din’s inner conflict, said more gently, “We will not prevent you from taking the child with you when you leave. If we did that, we’d be no different than the forces we strive to defeat. He is young enough that we have some time before he grows to learn too much of the world. But you should think deeply about your decision. What you feel is best for the child may not be what is best for the galaxy.”


	12. A New Contract

Moff Gideon sat in the command bridge of his ship, staring at the tracking fob in his hand.

The girl had said that they were headed to Coruscant. What would the Mandalorian be doing there? His type operated on the outskirts of society, not in the thick of it. He would have little use for a heavily populated Core planet with a strong government presence.

He was no longer employed by the Guild, so unless he was working an open contract as a mercenary, he wouldn’t be there in pursuit of a bounty.

Everything he had done in the past several months had been on behalf of the Asset.

And so, Gideon kept coming back to one unlikely scenario.

By now, the Mandalorian was well aware of the Asset’s abilities.

The Jedi Temple was on Coruscant.

If the Mandalorian intended to turn it over to them, Gideon’s chances of retrieving it for himself were about to plummet exponentially.

The Jedi and the Mandalorians had traditionally been enemies – but perhaps recent events had convinced the Mandalorian that the only way to keep the Asset out of the Empire’s hands was to relinquish it to the Jedi for training.

Gideon recalled, as he had a thousand times over the last few weeks, the incredible show of force that the Asset had unleashed as he had been about to kill the Mandalorian. The Moff had been around enough Force users to recognize raw, untapped potential – and the Asset had shown that in abundance with the way it had incapacitated an entire army in a single breath. The remarkable thing of it was that it was just a child; an infant, really. The Force contained in its body could make it the most powerful Jedi in all of history.

Though the Asset’s actions had resulted in the Mandalorian’s escape, bearing witness to its abilities had been incredible and Gideon had felt a perverse sense of validation in knowing that his theory had been proven correct.

The Asset held the key to the resurrection of the Empire.

Ever since the end of the Civil War, Gideon had been dedicated to seeing the New Republic brought to heel and the Empire reinstated to its former glory. He would do whatever was necessary to make that happen; but he knew that he would be fighting that war alone, at least at first. The Empire’s warlords had scattered to the far reaches of the galaxy after the war, to nurse their wounds and rebuild their wealth, and the only way to inspire them to come together again was to give them a leader – someone who wielded the power to command men to fight, to make them believe that their cause was worth dying for.

The Imperial Army had had such a leader, once – an individual gifted with Force capabilities who had led the Empire at the height of its power. During his time, he had nearly eradicated the galaxy of the cursed Jedi Order. He had, perhaps, been the only man that Gideon had ever truly respected.

He had died a traitor to the Emperor, however, nearly five years ago; and with his death, the vision of the Empire had died with him.

Gideon would pick up that mantle and finish what he had started. He already had the Darksaber. He only needed the Asset – or rather, what the Asset possessed.

He turned to back to the table and studied another tracking fob that lay before him. It had been a good idea to take out a little insurance on the girl. She hadn’t had the experience to recognize how unorthodox his request had been; and even if she had, she’d been so desperate to find the Mandalorian that she probably would have sold her own parents to get her hands on the fob anyway.

Despite their recent conversation, it was impossible to know where the girl truly stood in terms of their deal. Perhaps she was telling the truth, biding her time until she could kill the Mandalorian and steal the Asset; or, perhaps, she had switched sides, and was stringing Gideon along to buy her newfound allies more time.

It wasn’t terribly important. She had just been one more hunter to throw onto the Mandalorian’s trail. Despite Gideon’s mocking of Greef Karga’s men, that there had always been only a remote possibility that she would succeed where they had failed.

Either way, what Gideon was about to do would put even more pressure on the girl to finish the job. In his experience, fear of death was a great motivator.

If the Mandalorian was truly considering relinquishing the Asset to the Jedi, time was of the essence.

Gideon would sacrifice a thousand lives to prevent that from happening.

The fate of the galaxy depended on it.

The door to the command bridge slid open and the Client stood in the doorway. “Moff Gideon. How may I be of assistance?”

Gideon held up the tracking fob. “Give this to Greef Karga. I’m opening another contract. And we’ll want to send word to our friends on Coruscant.”

* * *

It was dusk by the time Korr and the Mandalorian left the Jedi Temple. Arvel had tried to persuade them to take lodging in the dormitories for the night, but the Mandalorian had flatly refused. He had made it clear that he barely tolerated the soft-spoken Jedi, and Korr knew that he had no interest in being in the Temple any longer than was absolutely necessary.

The heat of the day had faded, and a pleasant breeze wafted through the air. With the closing of the markets, the earlier crowds had thinned and the city was considerably quieter. It was a stark contrast to the state of Korr’s frenzied mind.

She couldn’t stop thinking about what the Jedi had said.

Arvel seemed to think that the child possessed incredible Force sensitivity and Korr’s own recent experience had led her to the same conclusion. While the Mandalorian hadn’t exactly been forthcoming about the child’s abilities, he had said nothing to dispel that theory.

It was clear now why the Imps wanted the child. If they were able to get their hands on him, if they somehow managed to transfer his abilities to an _already_ powerful individual who wanted to overthrow the New Republic – well, the galaxy had barely begun to recover from the recent Civil War. Another would destroy it.

Now, not only did Korr’s plan to return the child to the Moff carry with it a morally questionable weight; but it also had the potential to put the entire balance of the galaxy at risk.

In the face of that, her quest for revenge seemed…well, somewhat inconsequential.

The simple fact that she could recognize that was a revelation in and of itself, because for so long she had wanted nothing more than to avenge Owen’s death. That single desire had been her entire world.

_He is innocent, and he needs to be protected._

Korr looked over at the Mandalorian. “What you said back there, to the Jedi – about returning the child to its people. Is that truly your intention?”

The Mandalorian wasn’t much of a talker under normal circumstances and she half-expected him to ignore her completely after their time at the Temple, but he replied readily enough. “Yes.”

“Why? You’ve already rescued him from the Imperial remnant. Why go through the trouble of trying to find his people when you can just leave him with the Jedi? They know what to do. They can help him.”

He scoffed. “Help him? You mean use him to further their own ambitions. The Jedi are no better than the Imps I rescued him from.”

He was wrong about the Jedi, but she didn’t bother arguing with him.

Korr had always thought that the Mandalorian’s actions that night on Nevarro had been motivated by nothing more than a selfish greed, that he had reneged on a contract and then betrayed the Guild simply to escape the consequences of his actions.

If this new version of events was to be believed, he had instead saved a child from an unpleasant fate and kept a dangerous power out of the hands of an Imperial remnant.

That didn’t change the fact that he’d killed her brother, but it changed damn near everything else.

“Where are we going?” Korr asked as they walked back in the direction of the markets. Despite the thinning crowds, she was on high alert. She had stupidly told the Moff that they were going to Coruscant, and though he’d said that the tracking fobs had not yet indicated their current location, she didn’t trust that he’d keep that information to himself – especially now that she understood more of the Asset’s importance to him.

“ _I’m_ going back to my ship.”

The implication was clear; and as if to drive the point home, the Mandalorian pulled out a sack of credits. “Thank you for your help. This is your fee – I assume you’ll find it acceptable.”

Korr took the satchel dumbly. “What are you going to do now?”

The Mandalorian leveled his head at her, and she felt strangely exposed beneath the gaze of the narrow black visor. He answered her question with one of his own, and in a tone that made her think he’d been wanting to ask it for a long time. “Why does that concern you?”

She hesitated. Her feelings about the Mandalorian remained ambivalent, and she had no idea what the right thing to do with the child was. Perhaps he should have been left in the care of the Jedi, or perhaps returning him to his own kind was the best thing they could do for him. All she knew was that the one thing she _couldn’t_ do was take the child back to Nevarro or let him fall into the hands of the Imperial remnant. That meant that the Mandalorian’s continued protection of the child was necessary…which in turn meant that she should probably stop trying to kill him.

It occurred to her that the Moff might make good on his promise to issue a contract for her if she failed to return. She would have to figure out what to do about that.

She said to the Mandalorian, “I want to help.”

She didn’t know whether that was true. All she knew that was she wasn’t ready to part ways yet.

He studied her for a moment. “You’ve done enough. This isn’t your battle.” And then, as if to remind her, “You’re home now.”

Then he was walking away from her, his cloak billowing out behind him, and she was standing in the middle of the road, knowing that it would be futile to follow. The child’s head emerged from behind Mandalorian’s arm and he stared back at her as she watched them disappear into the gathering twilight.


	13. The Chistori

It was a strange thing, to be on her home planet and have nowhere to go.

The only place Korr _knew_ she didn’t want to go was home. She had only been gone for a few weeks, and yet the thought of returning to the dank underworld of Galactic City made her shiver. However brief it had been, the taste of freedom, of fresh air and large, quiet spaces, of stars and long stretches of nothingness, had made it so that she would never be able to truly go home again.

She missed her parents, of course – but the thought of seeing them triggered a sadness within her that she didn’t think she could bear. Their grief had split the three of them apart and sent them spiraling in different directions – her dad to the bottle, her mom to the bed, and herself to the Mandalorian. They had barely known each other before she left, and the idea of returning to live as three sad, silent strangers wracked her with both guilt and sorrow.

After separating from the Mandalorian in the Temple District, Korr had ended up back at the empty cantina from the night before. She had half-hoped to find him there – perhaps he’d feed the kid before beginning the long journey back to the Outer Rim – but he wasn’t, and she wasn’t surprised. He probably wasn’t even on the planet anymore. The kid would have to live on ration bars and the disgusting druk churned out by food synthesizers until they got to their next destination.

She wondered if she should have tried harder to prove her worth. It had occurred to her that she still had the tracking fob to the child – she could easily turn it back on and wait until it picked up their signal. It might take a few days to pinpoint their location, but eventually she’d find them again.

The thing was, it didn’t matter anymore. She couldn’t kill the Mandalorian as long as he was protecting the child, and she couldn’t take the child back to Nevarro, so what was the point in trying to remain in his company?

For the last several months, Korr had been driven by a single-minded desire for vengeance. It had directed every decision she’d made, and it had given her an energy and an ability to push on, relentlessly, despite having lost everything. Now, with that goal permanently out of reach, she felt truly lost for the first time since she’d heard the news.

Owen was dead, and nothing would change that. Not only had Korr failed miserably in her attempt to find justice for his death, but the conflicting feelings she felt now for the Mandalorian and his charge were a betrayal of her twin’s memory.

Tears of frustration pricked at her eyelids and she barely looked up when the droid dropped a bowl of tiingilar at her table. It was a spicy meat and vegetable stew, and it was usually her favorite comfort food – but tonight, despite having ordered the dish, she found that she had no appetite.

She knew she should eat.

She should eat, and then maybe she would stop feeling sorry for herself.

Korr lifted her head. When she did, she realized that she was being watched.

The two Chistori were sitting at the same table from the night before, and they were looking at her with undisguised interest. She knew that they were likely feeling emboldened because she was alone, and she resented that.

She resented it even more when they stood up and started making their way to her table.

“Where’s the buckethead tonight?” one of the Chistori asked. He smiled, revealing a mouth full of sharp teeth. The reptilian species were reputed be bad-tempered and quick to anger, Korr knew.

Not great odds for someone hoping to avoid a confrontation with one.

“Prepping our ship for departure,” Korr said, returning the smile. “He’ll be here soon.”

“I doubt that. We thought you were an interesting trio last night but imagine our surprise when this came in.” The Chistori tossed a small silver disc on the table. It took her a second to realize that she was staring at a bounty puck.

A holographic image popped up in front of her and she was careful to remain expressionless as she stared back at her own face.

This was not entirely unexpected. The Moff had said he would do as much. Apparently, Korr was taking too long for his liking and he had opened a contract on her.

Impatient bastard.

“It looks like me, but – “

The Chistori put his hands on the table and leaned toward her. “There’s a decent reward for you, but it’s nothing compared to what’s being offered for the ones you’re traveling with.”

“Then why are you wasting your time here?”

“We don’t have a fob on the Mando – but we have one for you. So you’re going to take us to him.”

Korr looked at him evenly. “Then you better find a ship, and fast. They’re gone, and I have no idea where they went.”

The Chistori yanked her up roughly by the arm. “I hope, for your sake, that that’s not true.”

He dragged her toward the door. His companion followed behind her, his blaster drawn and aimed at her back. Korr looked around for help but only droids manned the bar. There was one other patron in the tavern, and he was studiously focused on the wall in front of him.

She was on her own, then.

Fine. She’d been spoiling for a fight, anyway.

Outside of the tavern, the Chistori pushed her forward.

“Now, take us to your ship.”

* * *

It was fortunate that Din had listened to his instincts and followed the girl after parting ways at the Temple. His reason for doing so had been purely selfish – to confirm that she truly posed no threat to the child. She had done nothing to warrant his distrust since he’d found her suspiciously close to his ship on Arvala-7, but he was on edge after the encounter with the Jedi and experience had taught him to listen to every doubt, to flesh out every potential threat.

He would quiet those doubts, and then he would leave.

So he had followed her back to the cantina and watched her enter the establishment, then found his way to the rooftop of a nearby building with the intention of using the sonic detector on his rifle to take a closer look.

Din had managed to get into position just in time to overhear an alarming bit of dialogue – “ _…and I have no idea where he went._ ” Then she had emerged from the tavern, escorted by the two Chistori, and it had all become clear.

One of the Chistori had his hand pressed into the small of her back – likely holding a blaster there to encourage her cooperation. Din had no doubt that they were heading to the Razor Crest.

He had suspected that the two Chistori were bounty hunters when he’d seen them in the tavern the night before. He’d been with the Guild long enough to recognize the type.

Din didn’t know why they hadn’t made their move the night before. But it didn’t matter now.

His first instinct was to protect the child and himself, and he considered heading straight to his ship and leaving for the Outer Rim immediately. He could make better time than the Chistori and be out of the mech yard before they arrived. There was a part of him that was reluctant to intervene on behalf of a girl who wasn’t his responsibility – she wasn’t his charge, and she certainly wasn’t defenseless.

But that instinct was overruled by the simple, unavoidable fact that Korr was in trouble now simply because she had had the misfortune of running into Din and the foundling. She was yet another innocent person who had been caught in the crosshairs of Moff Gideon’s obsession.

Din wouldn’t let that cost the girl her life.

Back on the street now, he began to follow the Chistori from a safe distance, ducking into alleyways and open doorways as needed to avoid detection. Darkness had blanketed the city, making it easier for him to blend in, and there were still enough pedestrians walking around to provide light cover.

Once they reached the mech yard, he decided, he’d make his move. There would be less witnesses, less of a chance of attracting attention, and he could find a safe place to hide the child until it was all over.

But Korr apparently had other plans. They had just reached the edge of town when Din saw her stop and say something to one of the Chistori. Sensing the volatility of the moment, Din carefully put the foundling down behind a pile of empty crates stacked against a nearby building.

“Stay here,” he told him. The child stared up at him and he said, “Don’t move.”

When he looked back up, he saw the Chistori wave his blaster threateningly and bark an order of some sort. Korr spoke again, quietly enough that Din was unable to make out her words.

What _wasn’t_ hard to make out was when the Chistori pistol-whipped the girl so hard that her body went slack and she collapsed to the ground instantly. Even from this distance, Din could tell that she had been knocked unconscious by the blow.

Anger, surprising in its intensity, flooded his body.

Din broke into a run, pulling his vibroblade from his shin guard midstride and launching himself at the nearest Chistori. He tackled the surprised hunter to the ground and thrust his knife forward, aiming for his jaw. At the last second, the Chistori twisted his head to the side, avoiding the strike. He reached up and grabbed Din’s neck with a massive clawed hand, pushing him back, and Din felt his airways constrict painfully. He slashed upward with the knife, catching the Chistori deeply across the arm. The hunter grunted in pain and released his grip, and before he could recover Din drove the knife into the side of his head, killing him instantly. He fell back to the ground, dead.

Din scrambled to his feet and pulled his blaster, looking for the other Chistori. He found him just in time to see the second hunter point his own blaster and fire. Din threw himself to the side, desperately trying to avoid the shot. Laser fire grazed his side and sent a fiery jolt of pain shooting through his body. A second shot caught him on the side of his helmet at close range, hitting him with enough force to knock him off of his feet and send him flying into the wall of a nearby building.

He crumpled to the ground in a haze of pain, his head ringing. The Chistori advanced toward him, blaster aimed at his heart.

“You’re lucky that you’re wearing Beskar,” he said. “Otherwise your brain would be splattered on the wall behind you.”

Din pushed himself up into a sitting position and leaned against the wall as the Chistori drew closer. “Nice of you to save me the effort of searching for you. Now I don’t even have to split the bounty with my partner.”

“Glad…that it’s worked out so well for you.”

“Yeah. But you’ve got something else that I need. Where’s the old man?”

Din held up his right hand, feigning disorientation. It wasn’t hard. “I’ll take you to him. Just give me a second.”

The Chistori sneered. He opened his mouth to say something undoubtedly stupid and Din angled his fist downward and engaged the flamethrower on his vambrace. The Chistori screamed as he was engulfed in a blaze of fire. Within seconds, he was dead. Black smoke rose from the charred corpse.

Din took a deep breath and glanced down at the wound on his side. It would have been better if he’d let himself take the hit on the cuirass, but his instinct had been to protect his still-injured ribs from the impact. Instead, he had managed, somewhat impressively, to position himself in such a way that the blaster round had scored a hit on the unprotected side of his torso, and now there was a considerable amount of blood soaking into the fabric of his tunic.

A shadow passed over the ground and he looked up to see Korr standing in front of him. There was a bloody gash on the side of her head from where the Chistori had hit her, and she was staring at him with a strange expression on her face, as if she didn’t quite know what to make of the fact that he was there at all.

Concussed, likely.

“The kid,” he said, and pointed to the pile of boxes a hundred meters away. “He’s in there.”

She retrieved the foundling, then walked back with him in her arms.

“You’re hurt,” she said.

“I was hoping you would take care of the other one.”

“That would have been difficult, considering I was unconscious up until about a minute ago.”

Korr shifted the child to one arm and offered Din her free hand, helping him to his feet. The pain radiating from his side made his eyes water as he staggered over to the body of the first Chistori and bent down to retrieve his vibroblade. He had to twist it in order to free it from the tangled mess of bone and flesh.

He searched the body for a tracking fob but found nothing. When he looked up, he saw Korr hovering over the corpse of the second, picking through the charred remains. She stood up quickly when she saw him looking at her.

“Find anything?”

Wordlessly, she handed him a tracking fob. He touched the antenna to the foundling’s forehead and the fob lit up, confirming that it had been matched to its target. Confirming that hunters had found them on Coruscant, much quicker than he had anticipated.

There would be more coming.

Din tossed the fob on the ground and crushed it beneath his boot. He felt a wave of lightheadedness wash over him.

Korr must have noticed his unsteadiness because she said, “Come on. I’ll help you get the kid back to the ship.”

This time, he didn’t argue.


	14. The Turn

Korr was having a hard time walking without stumbling as she and the Mandalorian made their way to the mech yard. Her head was pounding fiercely from the blow that she had taken, and the Mandalorian wasn’t doing much better; his movements were stiff, slowed by pain.

She was still trying to process what had just happened.

Korr had known that she couldn’t take the Chistori to the mech yard. The Mandalorian had most likely already left the planet – but without being able to confirm that, she couldn’t risk leading bounty hunters to his ship. Not if there was even a remote possibility that doing so might result with the child being taken back to Nevarro.

Admittedly, she should have had more of a plan in place before telling them that she had no intention of going any further with them. She’d had a hand on her dagger, but she hadn’t been fast enough – and she hadn’t expected him to react so violently.

When Korr had come to, the Mandalorian was slumped against the wall and the Chistori had his blaster pointed at his head. Seconds later, he was on fire.

The Mandalorian had a lot of clever weaponry built into that armor of his.

He had saved her life tonight. Why?

It all made Korr feel that much guiltier about not being entirely honest with him when he’d asked if she had found anything on the charred body of the bounty hunter. She had. The tracking fob must have been made of some type of fire-retardant material because it had still been blinking away furiously in the dead Chistori’s pocket, and when she had touched it, the light had stopped blinking and simply remained on.

She had shoved it underneath the dead Chistori’s body and given the Mandalorian her own fob – the one that the Moff had given her back on Nevarro, the one that was keyed to the child. She knew now that no matter what happened next, she wouldn’t need it anymore.

If the Mandalorian had learned that the Chistori were tracking her and not the child, he would have had a lot of questions; and she wasn’t prepared to answer them yet.

Up ahead, the dim silhouette of the Mandalorian’s ship loomed in the distance. As they approached, the Mandalorian touched his vambrace and with a loud creak, the landing ramp of the ship began to lower to the ground.

He turned to Korr, “The fight may have drawn attention. You should go.”

This was the second chance she hadn’t thought she would get, and she wasn’t going to let it slip away. She said, “I want to come with you. I can help, and I think you could use it.”

He pointed a gloved finger back in the direction they had come from. “What just happened back there, what happened on Sorgan a few days ago – those things are going to keep happening, and next time it may not go the same way.”

“Maybe not, but we don’t have time to stand here and argue about it. If we _did_ draw attention, anyone watching will have seen you help me, and seen us leave together. I’m already involved, and if you leave me behind, they’ll come after me anyway.” He didn’t respond and she added, “You can always dump me on some Outer Rim skug hole if you change your mind later, right?”

The Mandalorian stared at her, his expression inscrutable behind his helmet, and she held her breath. When he turned around and started walking up the landing ramp without uttering another word, Korr decided to take that as his tacit agreement.

She followed him hastily, climbing aboard the ship before he could change his mind.

He headed for the cockpit and Korr followed him, still holding the child. “Shouldn’t we…stop the bleeding or something first?”

“We need to get off this planet,” he replied. There was a slight strain to his voice that she hadn’t heard before. “The tracking fob has pinpointed our location. There will be more hunters coming.”

She knew that he was right. “Okay, but I don’t know how to fly your ship – so please don’t pass out mid-takeoff.”

He flipped some switches and the engines came on with a roar. “Secure yourself and the kid.”

Korr descended to the cargo bay and placed the child in his storage compartment as the ship shuddered to life. She felt the landing gear retract into itself as the thrusters kicked on and a moment later, they were airborne.

The child looked up and held a tiny arm out to her. The cut on her forehead throbbed.

“We’re in this together now,” she said to him. “So stay out of my head, please.”

He chirped and wiggled his ears.

Korr sat down on the bench and stared out the window of the cargo bay as Coruscant disappeared from view and the Mandalorian’s ship carried her headlong into the enveloping darkness.

She wondered again how he had found himself in a position to save her life – and why he had intervened at all, considering that there was no conceivable benefit to his doing so. If anything, his actions had put the child in danger.

Why had he taken that risk?

Eventually the ship leveled out to a constant speed and direction, and Korr stood up and climbed the ladder to its upper deck. The cockpit was empty, but the light in the adjacent area was on. She stood in the doorway of the med bay and watched the Mandalorian.

He had removed his cuirass and was sitting on the cot, facing away from her, with a handheld instrument pressed to his side. It was sizzling, and Korr felt her stomach turn as she realized what he was doing.

Against her better judgment, she asked, “Do you…need help with that?”

He turned the cauterizer off and held it in one hand, his other pressed against the bed for support, his helmet low and facing the floor. “I’m fine.”

“Let me help. It looks like an awkward angle.”

She thought he might ignore her, but after a moment he turned and offered her the tool.

Korr knelt beside him. The shot from the blaster had just grazed him, but a long, bloody gash stretched across his ribs and arced over his lower back. The fabric of his tunic was scorched and torn.

She pulled away the clothing to expose the wound and started running the cauterizer across the injured area, trying to ignore the smell as she did so. The Mandalorian sat hunched forward, his body tense, gloved hands balled into fists, breaths coming in quick, barely controlled bursts.

Korr realized abruptly that through the blood and mess, she could see _skin_ – skin that was the color of honey, a dusky bronze that reminded her of the sands of the Arvalan desert.

So. He was a man, after all.

She recognized, too, how vulnerable he was in that moment – tired, injured, and unprotected by his armor. The child wasn’t nearby to intervene. If she truly meant the Mandalorian harm, she wouldn’t get a better opportunity than this.

With a jolt came another revelation, equally surprising and unsettling. She no longer _wanted_ to kill him.

Instead, now confronted with her first glimpse of the man beneath the armor, she was suddenly hyperaware of the broadness of his shoulders, the way that his back tapered to the waistband of his trousers. He wasn’t brawny or barrel-chested; instead, she could tell that he was all lean muscle beneath the armor. She could feel the heat radiating from his body.

She wondered what he looked like underneath the helmet.

Korr knew now that she was hopelessly, miserably confused.

She asked, partly to disguise her discomfort, “What if you had been hit in the head?”

“I was.”

“I mean…if it was more serious. If you were unconscious, if there was a good chance that there was a head injury. Would you let someone remove your helmet to help you?”

“No.”

“So you’d just…die? Even if the injury could be treated?”

He didn’t reply and she contemplated a world in which keeping one’s face concealed from others was more important than one’s life.

After a few minutes, she handed the cauterizer back to the Mandalorian, studiously avoiding eye contact with his visor. “There. I’m no medic, but that looks pretty well sealed to me.”

“Thank you.”

“I should probably be the one doing the thanking.” She hesitated, then asked, “Can I ask another question?”

He inclined his head as if to say, _since when do you ask permission?_

“Why did you come back for me?”

A pause. “I didn’t.”

“Then how…?”

“I was following you.”

“Why?” He didn’t reply immediately, and she said, “You didn’t trust me.”

He turned his head to her then, just slightly. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and without apology. “I had to make sure the kid was safe.”

Korr wanted to be upset by that, but it was difficult to summon indignation considering that up until very recently, she had been trying to kill him. She said, “We can’t let the Imps find him.”

“We?”

“I was at the Jedi Temple too, remember? I heard the same things you did. If the Empire gets their hands on the kid, we’re in for another war – and this time, the New Republic won’t stand a chance against a power-hungry Imp with Force power.”

The Mandalorian said quietly, “This is not your fight.”

“As someone who has a vested interest in the galaxy’s continued existence, I beg to differ.”

“The man who hunts the child won’t stop until he gets what he wants. Innocent people have already been hurt because of their connection to the foundling. Do you understand?”

“Yes, and don’t talk to me like I’m a child. I understand the risk. I can accept whatever happens from this point on. I may not come from a race of fearsome warriors who have flamethrowers and heat-seeking missiles built into their armor, but I can hold my own in a fight. If nothing else, I’m one more person who will be there to stand between the kid and the Empire if this happens again and you end up taking another blaster round to the gut – or worse.”

She took a deep breath. There was a long pause, and then the Mandalorian said quietly, “Whistling birds.”

“What?”

“The projectiles. They’re called whistling birds.”

There was a different quality to his voice, then.

He picked up his cuirass, stood gingerly, and began to walk toward the door of the med bay.

Korr asked, “Do you have a name?”

He turned to her and she imagined the same expression as when she had questioned his need to eat.

“Okay…then what should I call you?”

“Whatever you want.”

“That’s not…helpful.”

A slight shrug. “Mando, then.”

“That could refer to literally any Mandalorian in the galaxy.”

“Do you expect to be in a situation in which there’s more than one of us present?”

“I don’t know what to expect,” Korr replied, “but something tells me to be prepared for anything.”


	15. Rishi

Rishi was a tropical planet in the Abrion sector of the Outer Rim Territories, situated at the end of the Zareca String. The planet had originally been settled by pirates, and its shadowy coves and dark forests had provided a haven for smugglers and criminals ever since, earning the planet a slightly sinister reputation.

Din had tracked a bounty to Rishi’s shores several years ago. It had struck him as a quiet, backwater place then, and when it had popped up on his nav system as he was searching for a place to steer the Razor Crest to, he knew it would be the perfect place to lay low for a few days. A sparsely populated, out-of-the-way world; and best of all, no one that had any personal connections to him or the kid. If hunters managed to track them to Rishi, there wouldn’t be any collateral damage.

The child was sitting with Din in the cockpit, and when the Crest dropped out of hyperspace and the enormous specter of the blue and green planet filled the front windows of the ship, his eyes widened and he turned to Din and chirped with excitement.

Din couldn’t help but smile at him, though he knew that the kid couldn’t see his expression behind the helmet.

They had flown through the night and late into the next day to get back to the Outer Rim, and with their destination finally in view, exhaustion settled in Din’s bones like lead.

He said to the child, “The population of frogs on this planet is about to plummet.”

The foundling beamed at him.

Din maneuvered the Razor Crest to a small clearing and executed a gentle landing onto a windswept bluff. The sea stretched far below them, and Rishi’s only sun sat low on the horizon, casting a burnt orange light upon the rolling waters.

He turned off the engines and stiffly carried the foundling down into the cargo bay, his injured side protesting at the movement. Korr was already standing there, staring out the window with a pensive look on her face.

For the hundredth time, Din wondered whether he had made a mistake by taking her with them. She was obviously intelligent, and had shown herself to be tough, almost ruthless, at times. In some ways, she reminded him of Cara – a few years younger and certainly less experienced, but while she lacked the hardened cynicism of the ex-shock trooper, she possessed the same obstinacy and determination. He respected that about her, but he was also aware of the long and difficult road ahead. No matter what Korr thought she knew, she couldn’t truly understand what she had just signed up for.

There was something mysterious about her as well. He had noticed the way her eyes would darken sometimes when she looked at him, how the corners of her mouth would tighten as if she was contemplating some unknown threat. She would ask him a question and then pull back into herself almost immediately, as if she was afraid that she had revealed too much in her query or no longer wanted to know the answer.

Din was used to provoking others to fear, distrust, and often outright hostility – it was a natural reaction to his profession, his people, and the helmet – but he sensed that Korr’s feelings toward him were something different. Something more…complex.

He still remembered, however, that the child had been drawn to heal her back in the Arvalan desert. Perhaps he had sensed something within the girl worth saving. As long as she had the kid’s best interests at heart, maybe it didn’t matter that she had a mysterious past or that she was clearly haunted by something. Gods knew that Din had his own demons.

And after having reached yet another dead end in the search for the foundling’s people, he had to admit that he needed all the help he could get.

Now, he said, thinking to reassure her, “We’ll be safe here. It’ll take some time for even the nearest tracking fob to pinpoint our location.”

“It’s not that,” Korr replied, without looking away from the window. After a moment, she asked self-consciously, “That’s an ocean, isn’t it?”

He was surprised. “Yes.”

“I thought so. I’ve never seen one before. Not in real life. It’s beautiful.”

That made sense. She was from a planet that had long ago lost its natural soul to the crush of civilization and infrastructure. Din thought suddenly of Korr the child, growing up in the dark underbelly of Coruscant, able to know things like sunshine and mountains and rainstorms and oceans only in concept, and felt a wave of pity for her.

As if sensing his thoughts, Korr straightened and turned away from the window with a vaguely uncomfortable air. She asked, “Will we stay on the ship tonight?”

“Yes. You can sleep in the med bay.”

“Are you going to cuff me to the wall again?” she asked lightly.

“Not unless you plan on stealing it.”

“I don’t even know how to turn it on.”

Din opened the weapons store and slipped a blaster into each side holster. “I’m going to take a look around, make sure there isn’t anything out there that will cause us any trouble tonight.”

Korr nodded and he lowered the landing ramp.

He walked the perimeter of the ship, using the infrared sensor in his helmet to search for heat signatures. The grassy bluff fell away steeply on three sides, providing a fairly strong defensive position with a commanding view of the sandy shore below. A forest of broadleaf trees backed up to the Razor Crest, several hundred meters down the bluff. It was the only direction that a land borne attack could come from, but there were no signs of life among the trees, and Din finally let himself relax.

The air was heavy in the gathering dusk, and he could feel the humidity through his armor. The distant sound of pounding waves, far below, cut through the stillness. It felt good to be outside.

When he returned to the ship, he saw Korr standing at the bottom of the landing ramp, watching the child chase cicadas in the tall grass.

“Did you know that he eats bugs?” she asked.

“Yes. And frogs.”

“That’s kind of weird.” She rubbed her arm absently. Her sleeve was rolled up to her elbow and Din was surprised to see that the gash along her forearm had all but healed, much quicker than he would have thought possible. He looked down at the child suspiciously as Korr said, “I found your food synthesizer – now I know why he wasn’t very interested in what I made.” She glanced at him. “I’m still not convinced that you eat food, but there’s a bowl in there for you.”

“Thank you.”

Din lifted his gaze to the ocean that stretched far below the bluff. The sun had fully and finally set, and the roiling sea was fading rapidly into the approaching darkness.

When was the last time that he had allowed himself to be still? To his surprise, he found that he was content to be there, listening to the waves crashing onto the rocks below as the stars began to emerge from the unfolding night sky above. Korr seemed to feel the same way, and they stood in companionable silence for a long time.

Eventually, she asked quietly, “Why did you go back for the child that night? Why did you change your mind?”

Din watched the foundling pounce on something unseen in the grass. He hadn’t changed his mind so much as he had simply realized that he could no longer ignore it. “I knew that handing him over to the remnant was to sentence him to a short life and a painful death. I didn’t want that on my conscience.”

“Your conscience,” Korr repeated, as if she was surprised that he knew the concept. “Have you ever refused to turn over a bounty before?”

“No.” He had turned down jobs before, both out of principle and because he hadn’t liked the terms or the setup, but he had never reneged on a contract once accepted.

“What made him any different, then?”

The foundling looked up at them, as if he knew that he was the subject of their conversation. Korr bent down and scratched the top of his head. “Other than the fact that he’s probably much cuter than your other bounties.”

“He’s a child.” Din hesitated. “Shortly after I recovered him on Arvala-7, he had the opportunity to kill me – or at least, allow me to be killed. Instead, he saved my life.”

Korr turned to him in surprise. “He saved your life, and you turned him over anyway?”

“Yes.”

Guild code dictated that a hunter was to concern himself only with the recovery of the bounty – he was not to question the reasons or the motives behind it. This philosophy had suited Din well, until he had encountered the child. Until it had almost been too late, and he had returned to the remnant’s hideout to find the foundling strapped down to a metal table with an IT-O droid hovering above him, and a cold fear had gripped his heart – a fear unlike any he’d known before.

Korr said, “I can’t imagine it was easy for you to get him back.”

“No. As soon as the Imps realized what had happened, they reactivated the tracking fobs that were keyed to the child. Every hunter on the planet was on us within minutes. I had to shoot my way out.”

She said something odd, then. “Many of them died that night.”

Din thought of the Mandalorians who had come to his aid when he had been pinned down in the town square. He still hadn’t heard from Paz. He replied, “Yes.”

Korr took a deep breath. When she spoke, her voice was strained. “What were your intentions with the kid?”

“I didn’t have any. Not then.”

“You stole a child with Force capabilities from an Imperial remnant and killed members of your own Guild without a reason?”

Din said, “I knew the Imps couldn’t be allowed to have him. That was enough.”

She was quiet for a moment. “I think most of your Guild would disagree with your decision.”

“Yes, they made that pretty clear.”

“Did it bother you? To kill fellow hunters?”

He was aware, then, of a profound emotion in her voice. Anger? Sorrow? He glanced at her. “No. They were trying to kill me.”

“Because you’d broken the rules.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t…disagree with what you did. I just wonder whether so many had to die that night.”

Din didn’t respond.

She asked mildly, “Have you considered that the Jedi might be more of a family to him than his own people? You don’t know anything about where he comes from, or how he ended up on his own. Maybe his parents were killed. Maybe they abandoned him on purpose. Maybe his entire planet was destroyed by an asteroid, or an enemy race, or even by us – during the war. For all we know, he could be the last of his kind.” Unknowingly she echoed Kuiil’s words and said, “The Jedi may be able to understand him better than anyone else. Including you.”

She wasn’t saying anything that Din hadn’t already thought of, but hearing the possibilities vocalized by another person revived the uncertainty in the back of his mind. He said only, “If the kid’s family is alive, he deserves to know that. He can make his own decisions from there.”

Korr said, “I’ve spent my entire life with my birth parents, and we’ve never understood each other. Not in the most important ways. I don’t know if we ever will. Maybe we should have tried harder, before…but it’s too late now.”

Din wanted to tell her that being understood was not the only measure of value. The Mandalorians understood him as well as anyone could; and certainly more than his parents had, as they hadn’t had the chance to know him in adulthood. Death Watch had saved him when he was a defenseless child; they had raised him in the fighting corps and trained him in the art of war; and he had been proud to take on the armor. Their Way had become his Way, his purpose, his very identity, and he would die before he broke the Creed willingly.

But being understood and being loved were very different things, and for the child’s sake he hoped that the two were not mutually exclusive.

Now he found himself asking Korr a question. “Why?”

“What?”

“Why is it too late?”

Korr stared fiercely at the ocean as she spoke. The bitterness in her voice threatened to drown out the sound of the waves. “My brother was killed several months ago. He was the glue, and his death has destroyed our family.”

 _Killed_. A violent end, then.

“I’m sorry.”

She didn’t respond.

The cicadas buzzed in the grass around them and the waves crashed against the rocky shore far below.


	16. The Possibility of Good

Korr couldn’t get enough of the ocean. It was immense, larger than anything she’d ever seen in her life, and it was always _moving_ , foaming and rolling and crashing and breaking. Even the color of the water seemed to change. Last night it had appeared dark, fathomless, unknowable. Today, under a bright bluebird sky, it was an azure color and the waves sparkled like emeralds in the sunlight.

She reluctantly tore her gaze away from it as she followed the Mandalorian into the dark, crowded market stalls of Raider’s Cove. It was late morning on Rishi, and they had ventured out into the nearby town to purchase food and supplies to restock the Razor Crest. The child rested in a sling across her chest, partially concealed by her cloak. Every so often he would put a tiny claw on her shoulder, and she would offer him one of the dried crickets that they had purchased earlier in the day.

“Do you think he has a name?” she asked the Mandalorian.

“Not one that I’ve given him.”

“Then what do you call him?”

No answer.

She said, “We should call him _something_.”

He glanced back at her. “Think of a name for him, if you want.”

The Mandalorian strode quickly through the market with purpose, conducting his business with various vendors efficiently, if not a little brusquely, and Korr wandered along behind him, gazing with interest at the offerings displayed at the stalls – stacks of Jogan fruit cakes, starfruit, and horned melons alongside piles of beets and Corellian apples. Plump Pashkin sausages hung beside slabs of Bantha steak. The air was redolent with the scent of spices and the smell of salt wafting in from the nearby sea.

Most of what she saw was familiar to her – Coruscant was a large, metropolitan world and nearly every ingredient in the galaxy could be found for the right price – but somehow everything felt new and different.

It had less to do with her surroundings, Korr knew, and everything to do with something that had changed within her.

Her life as of late had been violent and vengeful, full of dreams of bloodshed and shadowy alleys on dark planets and clandestine meetings with Imperial remnants – and she had embraced it because it had felt good, because it had been the only way that she could bear the pain of losing Owen, because she had yearned for an outlet for her anger and it felt like she finally had found one.

And yet now…now, she suddenly found herself in the thrall of something else. She felt, for the first time in a long time, that perhaps she had found a purpose that did not require the committing of some dark act in order to be accomplished.

The possibility of good, perhaps.

Then the comm link in her pocket chirped.

Korr quickly wrapped her hand around the device to muffle the noise. The Mandalorian didn’t turn around – he was several meters ahead of her, and the din of the crowds had drowned out the sound. With a final glance at him to make sure he wasn’t looking, she pulled it out of her pocket. There was only one person that could be calling her on that device, and her immediate instinct was to throw the comm link on the ground and crush it under her heel. No good would come from answering.

Then she reconsidered. Perhaps she could learn something valuable – some idea of his plans, some tidbit of information that could eventually be used to formulate a plan to kill him.

If she discovered something, she could provide that information to the Mandalorian. And maybe it would in some small part make up for the lies and deception.

Korr let herself fall back further in the crowd, waiting until the Mandalorian was completely out of sight before she ducked behind a nearby stall and raised the comm link to her ear.

“I’ve been expecting to hear from you,” the man said.

“I’ve been a little busy,” she replied coldly. “You know, fighting for my life.”

“Oh?”

“I thought we had a deal.”

“We did. But why should I hold up my end of it when you clearly have no intention of doing the same?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The tracking fobs have lost their signals, so I know that neither you nor the Asset are still on Coruscant. I can only assume that with as much time as you’ve had, a girl as resourceful as yourself would have found an opportunity to make a move, and yet you have not. What am I to make of that?”

“Why don’t you ask the bounty hunters you sent after me?” Korr asked, watching the crowds pass by. The child squirmed in the crook of her arm. “Or have you been having a hard time reaching them?”

There was a pause. “I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but I can assure you that you will not emerge the winner. You have no idea what you’re up against.”

“I know you can’t be trusted.”

“That’s true. But then, apparently neither can you.” The Moff said, “Even as we speak, I have the Guild sending hunters out in every direction. As soon as the fobs pinpoint your location, they will come for you both. I suggest you think long and hard about your next move. It’s not too late. And if you can deliver the Asset to me, I am prepared to be very forgiving.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you should be prepared to spend the rest of your life – as short as it may be – running.”

“There is another option,” Korr replied. “We could come for you first.”

“We?” the man repeated, and she heard the cold mirth in his voice. “You almost sound as if you think the two of you are on the same team. I wonder what your brother would think of that.”

Anger, tempered by shame, coursed through Korr.

He continued, “I wonder what the Mandalorian will think when he finds out about the little chats that we’ve been having. I’ll have to ask him when I see him in person to claim the Asset.”

Korr glanced down at the foundling in his sling. He cooed hesitantly, as if sensing the tension, and extended a small arm toward her. She felt a cold fear snake down her spine. “I’ll die to keep that from happening.”

“You will. But it won’t prevent anything.”

She removed the comm link from her ear and took a deep breath – staring straight ahead, trying to think rationally. The Moff’s cold, scornful voice echoed in her mind and she had the irrational sense that by answering his hail, she had somehow brought him closer to them.

A heavy hand fell on her shoulder and she whirled around, panicked, one hand bringing a dagger up reflexively.

“What are you doing?” the Mandalorian asked quietly, ignoring the blade. His helmet was dipped low, close to her face, and she was reminded of how dangerous he could be. How dangerous he _was_.

She had the sudden urge to tell him everything. The deceit was growing harder and harder to maintain – everything would come out at some point. Better in a crowded marketplace than alone on his ship. At least the presence of other people might deter him from killing her. Maybe.

But she hesitated, and the moment was lost – replaced by fear, by a cowardly desire for self-preservation.

She hated herself for it.

Her grip on the dagger loosened and she slid it back into her belt. “Sorry. The kid was getting fussy. I thought he might be getting overwhelmed by the noise and the crowd.”

The Mandalorian looked down at the child, then studied her for a long moment, and she thought how unfair it was that he could see the furrow in her brows, the color of her eyes, and every stupid emotion that flitted across her face, when she was given nothing more than the steely black gaze of his visor.

If he suspected something, it was impossible to tell.

All he said to her was, “Keep up.”


	17. A Touch

Cara hailed Din on the comm link as he and Korr returned to the Razor Crest. He went into the cockpit and sat down in the captain’s chair.

“Hey, Mando,” Cara said, and Din was surprised at how good it was to hear her voice. “Miss me yet?”

“Would you believe me if I said yes?”

“Not for a second.” She laughed. “Where are you?”

“Outer Rim. Just arrived from Coruscant last night.”

“Coruscant? What the hell were you doing there?”

Din thought of Sorgan, of the Jedi Temple, of the Chistori, of the girl who had taken up residence in the med bay of his ship. “It’s a long story.”

“Yeah, I bet. Thought you were going to stay out of trouble. How’s the kid?”

Din looked out the front window of the ship, where Korr was sitting in the grass with the foundling. She was playing a game with him, hiding crickets in her hands as the kid tried to pounce on them. He had an expression of pure joy on his face and Korr was laughing. Din couldn’t help but notice the way that her smile changed her entire countenance. She almost looked like a different person.

“Hey. Did I lose you?”

He said, “Kid’s fine. How’s Corellia?”

“Thought you’d never ask. Are you sitting down?”

“Yes.” Cara could be dramatic.

“You ever hear of a guy named Skywalker? Luke Skywalker?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Well, he’s kind of a big deal around here. Hero of the Resistance and all. He destroyed the Death Star during the war.”

Din _had_ heard of the Death Star – it had been the Empire’s ultimate weapon, a moon-sized space station with the ability to destroy entire planets. He knew that Cara’s home world of Alderaan had fallen victim to it, and he knew that its destruction had been crucial to the Republic’s eventual victory.

He said, “Don’t tell me you’re rejoining the Resistance.”

“Fuck no. Listen to me. I’d heard of Skywalker before, of course. But the other day I ran into some old buddies of mine on the Alliance base who told me – “

“What were you doing on an Alliance base?”

There was a pause. “I had a hunch, okay? I didn’t want to tell you in case it didn’t pan out. Anyway, I found out that Skywalker has been gone for years on this crazy, galaxy-wide search for something that will supposedly help him restore the Jedi Order to power.”

“And?”

Another pause, which was interesting in and of itself – hesitancy was not a characteristic that he normally associated with Cara. Finally, she said, “It’s better if we talk in person. Can you pick me up?”

“Yes, but it’ll take me a few days to get there.”

“That’s fine. Gives me time to take care of a few things. Call me when you’re close and I’ll tell you where to find me.”

Din disconnected the comm link and sat back in his chair, feeling uneasy. He had managed to avoid the Jedi for most of his life but lately he couldn’t _blink_ without them showing up somewhere. No matter what he did, it seemed as if the Jedi and the foundling’s paths were determined to intersect.

He made his way outside. Korr was standing at the edge of the bluff with her arms crossed, staring out at the ocean.

“Do you know how to swim?” she asked absently as he approached.

“Yes.”

She turned to him then, clearly surprised by his answer. “You do?”

“I grew up on a world with oceans,” he said, surprising himself with his openness. When was the last time that he’d talked about his childhood? “My father…was a fisherman and I would help him with the nets sometimes. He taught me.”

“Your father was a fisherman? Not a…?”

“No.” That had come later, born of loss and desperation. “Mandalorian isn’t a race. You’re not born into it. It’s a Creed, and you have to accept it.”

Korr seemed to ponder that. Din waited for the next, obvious question, but instead she simply remarked, “I suppose a man who doesn’t know how to swim probably wouldn’t make a very good fisherman.”

“Not one destined for a long life, at least.”

She nodded. “Can you tell me what it’s like? Being in the water?”

He thought about that, tried to imagine having never experienced the buoyancy of water. “Immersive. Deep. Warmer near the shore, colder as you get further out. And it’s not hard to get far enough out that you can’t touch the bottom. If you hold your breath, the salinity in most oceans will allow you to float on top of the surface.”

“I’ve always thought that it would be like that,” Korr said. “Like floating in space, in a way. Drifting.” She glanced at his helmet. “Swimming probably isn’t an option for you anymore, is it? Not with…all of that.”

“Beskar doesn’t rust, but no. At least not with anyone else around.”

Was it his imagination or did she look disappointed? He said, “You should go down there. To the beach.”

Korr nodded. “Later, maybe.”

“You probably shouldn’t wait too long.”

Alarm flashed across her face. “Why?”

“I need to head back to the Core to pick up a friend. She has new information about the kid.”

Korr looked over at the foundling, who was sitting on the ground playing with the Mythosaur pendant around his neck. A pensive look came across her face. “I’ve been thinking…that maybe finding his family shouldn’t be our top priority at the moment.”

Din didn’t respond and she continued, “Until we deal with the ones chasing the child, we’ll be too busy trying to stay one step ahead of them to make any real progress in the search for his family.” She looked at him. ”We need to take care of the Imp first, don’t we? Now, before he forces a confrontation that we’re not prepared for.”

It was like listening to an echo. He had said nearly the exact same words to Cara and Paz during the last encounter with Gideon on Nevarro. There had been a brief moment of opportunity, when the Moff was stunned and on the ground and his stormtroopers were struggling to regroup – and Din had been confident that he could have killed him. He likely would not have survived the doing of it, but at least the kid would have been safe. Everything that had happened since then might have been avoided.

Instead, Cara and Paz had convinced him to flee with the foundling, to live to fight another day. Now here he was, months later, and all he had done since then was run.

Korr had a right to know who she was dealing with. Din said, “The Imp seeking the child is a man named Moff Gideon. He was an ISB officer in the Imperial Army. We were in a confrontation on Nevarro several months ago, and he captured me – nearly got the kid as well. We barely escaped with our lives.”

“What stopped him?”

“The kid. And my tribe.”

Korr’s eyes widened in surprise. “Your tribe? There’s more of you?”

“Yes.”

“Will they help us now?”

Din shook his head. “I don’t know where they are. They had to abandon their Covert after they revealed themselves to come to my aid. They were supposed to contact me when they’d settled somewhere, but I haven’t heard from them since.”

Korr was quiet for a moment. “Then perhaps the Jedi, knowing what the child is capable of and what is at stake, would be willing to help us defeat this Moff.”

“No. They have their own reasons for wanting to possess the child. They can’t be trusted.”

“The alternative is to go up against this Moff Gideon alone, and don’t take this the wrong way, but it doesn’t seem like you’ve had much success doing that so far.” Din didn’t reply and she continued, “Arvel let us leave the Temple with the kid, remember? He could have easily taken him by force if he had wanted to. The Jedi are peacekeepers.”

“Peacekeepers?” Din repeated, unable to keep the scorn out of his voice. “Tell that to the thousands of innocents who were killed when the Jedi attacked Mandalore and destroyed the planet.”

“That was a long time ago, and a war isn’t waged by one side alone. You can’t condemn an entire race for one bloody moment in history.”

“The history of the Jedi is filled with bloody moments.”

“As is the history of the Mandalorians,” Korr said, a note of incredulity in her voice. “Did you know that most citizens in the Core see the Jedi as their protectors? Your people are the ones that they’re terrified of, the ones that are viewed as bloodthirsty, merciless warriors who only respect death and destruction.”

“I could care less about what Core dwellers think.”

“Or are you just too proud to ask for help, even for the sake of the kid?”

The tide of anger that swelled up within Din was deep and raw. He said, “The Jedi were responsible for the death of my parents and the destruction of my village. I would happily go several lifetimes without more of their _help_.”

Korr recoiled in shock. “What…?”

He turned away but she reached out and put a hand on his arm, just above his vambrace. He felt her touch like a jolt of electricity and his first instinct was to seek retreat, to pull away.

“Tell me,” she said quietly. “Please.”

Something within him stilled the urge, warming to her touch, compelling him to stay.

Din looked down at the foundling. “The Jedi came to our village when I was a child, seeking shelter from the Separatist forces.”

“The Clone Wars,” Korr said. He could see the gears turning in her mind – she was doing the math, figuring his approximate age. The wars had ended 28 years ago, but when he dreamed of those long hours spent huddled in the hatch as explosions and screams raged on in the world above him, he could still smell the char in the air, still feel the blistering heat.

“Yes. We didn’t have much, but we took them in and did what we could. Gave them food, and shelter. They left shortly after arriving, but not before the Separatist droids discovered what we had done. They decided to make an example of us, to show the galaxy what would happen to those who aided the Republic.” The words came haltingly. It had been a long time since he had spoken of the tragedy of his youth to anyone – even Cara didn’t know the details of what had occurred. “We sent distress hails to the Jedi forces, but they never responded. They never came back. The droids burned our village to the ground and massacred everyone in it.”

Din’s parents had hidden him in the hatch and he had stayed there for what felt like hours as his world had burned down around him. A battle droid had discovered him and would have killed him if the Mandalorians hadn’t arrived when they did. Instead, Din found himself lifted into the air by a faceless, nameless warrior in dinged metal armor, spiraling up and off the ground, moving so quickly that he nearly missed seeing the bodies of his parents lying in the dirt less than ten feet away from the hatch that he had hidden in.

Nearly.

It had taken him a long time to believe that death would not have been the better path for him that day.

Korr was studying him with a compassionate look in her eyes. It made him uncomfortable and he averted his gaze. Her hand still rested on his forearm. When she spoke, it was with an uncharacteristic meekness. “I’m sorry. Truly. No one should ever have to live through something like that, much less a child.”

Din bent and picked up the foundling.

They didn’t speak of the Jedi for the rest of the night.

* * *

Gideon had been chasing the Asset for the better part of a year.

That simple fact tormented him endlessly.

What should have been a straightforward acquisition had become incomprehensibly difficult due to the actions of the Mandalorian; and Gideon’s plans had been critically delayed because of it.

Greef Karga had been the one to recommend the Mandalorian in the first place. _The best in the parsec,_ he’d said. _Expensive, but worth every credit and then some, especially on a challenging contract such as yours. If anyone can find what you seek, it will be him._

“I need someone who won’t ask questions,” Gideon had said, for he knew that the Asset’s unusual appearance might cause a weaker man to experience some moral qualms.

Karga had smiled. “If you get more than five words out of him, you’ll be luckier than most. Be straight with him, pay the negotiated rate, and you’ll have no issues or complaints.”

Things had not worked out quite as either of them had expected.

Gideon was only mildly less incensed by the developments with the girl. True, the Mandalorian had garnered help along the way before – the ex-rebel shock trooper, an unusually conscientious IG-11, the Covert; but now, he had an unlikely ally that Gideon himself had all but gift-wrapped for him.

He had been with the Imperial Security Bureau long enough to know that only a fool believed he could truly trust another man, but Gideon had been cautiously optimistic about the girl’s chances of tracking down the Mandalorian. When she had first come to him, she had been desperate, hungry, for revenge. He’d seen it in her eyes, and he knew better than anyone how powerful the need for revenge could be. He remembered the way it gnawed at his insides as a child, tormenting him relentlessly. Not until he had thrust the blade into his father’s heart and felt it stop beating had he felt it subside.

Unfortunately, the girl had proven to be a disappointment. Their latest conversation all but confirmed her change of heart, and the idea that he had misjudged her so enormously during their brief encounter enraged him.

So when Greef Karga asked to meet Gideon on his ship, he was not in a good mood. He thought it equally likely that he’d shoot the man as it was that they would share a drink.

But the Guild leader wasted no time in brightening Gideon’s day.

“One of my hunters has registered the Asset’s signal,” he said in a low voice. He had a tight expression on his face and it looked like it pained him to say the words. They were standing in the cargo bay, watching as troopers proceeded to load the next month’s supply of foodstuffs and necessities onto the ship. When Karga had strode up the landing ramp, he had likely expected to go to the Moff’s living quarters for a private conversation – but Gideon distrusted the man. He tolerated him only for the information and the resources that he provided.

When the Empire regained power, Gideon would take personal satisfaction in the death of the Guild Leader. There was a place in the world for the Bounty Hunters Guild, but he would ensure that a man loyal to the Empire would fill the position of its leader.

“Where?” asked Gideon.

“In the Rishi Maze. It’s an irregular dwarf satellite galaxy. My hunter was working an unrelated Guild job and must have passed just close enough to trigger the hit.”

“Do we know what planet the signal is coming from?”

“Rishi itself, most likely. Nearly everything else out there is uninhabitable.”

“And the girl? Is she with the Asset?”

The Guild leader hesitated. “Yes.”

“Excellent. Send your best hunters to intercept them. The terms are the same as before. I want the Mandalorian and the girl dead. The Asset can be brought in dead or alive, though alive is preferred by the doctor.”

To Gideon’s surprise, Karga shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“We’ve diverted nearly all of our resources to your search for the last few months. The Guild must begin to refocus on the contracts that have been neglected.”

“The commission from my contract is more than you would make from all of the others combined.”

“It’s not just about the money.”

“It’s always about the money.”

Karga stared at him evenly. “I have a reputation to consider, Moff Gideon. If the Guild is seen as showing preferential treatment to an Imperial remnant, people will stop coming to us with work. I’ve come to you to let you know of the ping, but I won’t be able to send any more hunters after the target.” He glanced around the ship. “I expect you will have no shortage of resources to continue the hunt.”

“I see. Are you sure that you aren’t refusing out of some newfound principle?” The Guild leader didn’t respond and Gideon continued, “I know you disapprove of the girl’s involvement in this. And perhaps you still feel some affinity for the Mandalorian after all. After all, he made you quite wealthy for several years.”

“I do not have the luxury of principles,” Karga replied. “I’m a realist. How I feel about the Empire and what you do in service to it is beside the point.”

Gideon bristled at the man’s judgment. “Better to be a loyalist than a traitor,” he said coldly. “One day the Empire _will_ rise again – and you will be on the wrong side of it.”

“Perhaps,” Karga said. “But I won’t have sold my soul to its cause.”

The Moff smiled thinly and stood up. “Thank you for your assistance, and for this enlightening conversation. I will send you the Mandalorian’s helmet and the girl’s head as a sign of my gratitude when I’m through with them.”

He turned and strode out of the cantina. He didn’t need the Guild – he was going to Rishi himself, with the full force of his army behind him, and this time he wasn’t going to leave without the Asset.

And, perhaps, the Mandalorian’s head.


	18. The Ambush

The Mandalorian had warned Korr not to stray too far from the shore. The tide, he’d said, could pull a person out into deeper waters with deceptive ease, and Korr didn’t know how to swim.

If that wasn’t a metaphor for everything that had happened since she’d left home, she didn’t know what was.

Now, she sat on the sand and marveled at the rhythm of the sea as the waves rushed in over her outstretched legs, only to recede just as suddenly. It was late afternoon, and the chill of the water was a welcome reprieve from the sun that beat down overhead. She had taken off her boots and leggings but left her tunic on, conscious of the fact that if the Mandalorian cared to look, he’d be able to see her easily enough from the ship’s vantage point on the grassy bluff above. Not that he _did_ care to look, of course, but she had left the tunic on anyway.

That morning, Korr had woken up determined to do two things – sit on the beach, and tell the Mandalorian the truth. All of it. She would trust him with the information, she’d decided, and then wait and see what he would do with it.

His tragic revelation the night before had convinced her. To suffer through such a horrific loss as a child, to see not only his family but his home and identity destroyed in one fell swoop – Korr knew that she would not have been able to bear it. Losing Owen had nearly killed her.

It was a horrible thing, what had happened to the Mandalorian, but it also gave her hope for her own situation. He seemed to know the value of family and honor, to be intimately familiar with the horror of loss. Perhaps he would understand how experiences like that could change the entire trajectory of a life and persuade one to do things that they would normally never consider.

She recognized, too, that his telling her that childhood story indicated that something about their relationship had changed. A tenuous trust had formed between them. In the face of that development, her deceit was made all the more distasteful.

So, perhaps he would understand.

Then again, it seemed just as likely that he’d kill her. If that was his intention, she wouldn’t make it easy for him.

The only thing Korr knew for certain was that _she_ didn’t want to kill _him_ anymore – and she was tired of the lies that she had entangled herself in.

What did she feel for the Mandalorian, though, if it could no longer be called hate? A begrudging respect, perhaps, or even admiration, for the dedication that he demonstrated to the child and his safety.

She didn’t feel anything more than that.

She didn’t.

She couldn’t.

After all, he had killed her brother, and no amount of changing circumstances or heartfelt revelations would alter that fact. How could she ever look at the man without remembering what he had done?

 _They were trying to kill me,_ he’d said. As in, _I had no choice_.

The sound of tiny steps in the wet sand caught her attention and she turned to see the foundling waddling past her, his eyes trained on the water with a focused determination.

“Whoa,” she said, and reached out to pull him back by the collar of his robe. “I know it looks inviting, but I’m willing to bet that you don’t know how to swim, either.”

He looked up at her with a furrowed brow and she splashed him with the frothy water that had washed up around them. He giggled.

“How’d you even get down here, anyway? I’m surprised that your keeper would let you out of his sight.”

“I didn’t,” a voice said behind her, and she turned quickly to see the Mandalorian standing there.

Her first reaction was one of alarm. Had the hunters found them? “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just…the kid’s probably never seen an ocean before either. I’m not sure when he’ll have another chance.”

 _Or be still long enough to enjoy it_ , he seemed to be saying.

He was quiet, his helmet tilted downward, and it took Korr a second to realize that he was still looking at her. She was suddenly, _painfully_ , aware of her bare legs stretched out in the sand in front of her. A scorching heat flooded her face. It felt incredibly incongruous to be wearing only a thin tunic while the Mandalorian was covered head to toe in heavy Beskar armor.

They were on a beach, she told herself. _He_ was the one who looked out of place, not her.

For all she knew, he could be blushing too.

Neither thought stopped her from pulling her legs up and crossing them beneath her.

“Do you want to sit?” she asked after an awkward silence.

“No.” She looked up at him and he said, “The sand.”

“What about it?”

“My armor is…intricate.” She still didn’t understand, and he said, with a hint of exasperation, “It has circuitry components.”

 _Oh_. The idea that this fierce, deadly warrior could be prevented from sitting down by the threat of getting sand in his armor was so insane that Korr started laughing; and once she started, she found it nearly impossible to stop. The foundling looked up at her with a bewildered expression and it only made her laugh harder.

“Sorry,” she said, gasping for breath and wiping at watery eyes. “Sorry. I just….”

“It’s been a long few days,” the Mandalorian replied. Was that a smile she heard in _his_ voice?

“Yes,” she agreed, and felt herself sober quickly as the present reality came rushing back.

Korr felt her determination waver. It seemed wrong to inject something so dark into the unexpected brightness of the moment. The Mandalorian seemed relaxed…almost as if he was enjoying himself.

But until he knew the truth, every moment of camaraderie between them would be false, viewed through a lens of betrayal later. Better to tell him the truth now, before those moments became even more frequent.

Before she could lose her nerve, she said, “I have to tell you something.”

He was towering over her and she had to crane her neck to look up at him. That didn’t feel right and she stood up quickly, brushing the sand off of her tunic. A deep breath. “I haven’t been completely honest with you about who I am.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said in a dismissive tone.

“What?”

“I’m not in a position to judge you based on your past.”

“No. You don’t understand. I – “

The Mandalorian looked out over the water. “You have the child’s best interests at heart. You’ve put yourself in danger to keep him safe. That tells me enough.”

This was somehow worse than facing his murderous rage. He was saying that he trusted her – at least, as much as he trusted anyone.

Korr looked at him miserably. It would be so easy to just let it die there, to pretend that it was nothing. After all, she was squarely on his side now. Was it really that important to tell him an old truth that was no longer true, to risk being separated from the child at a time when he needed all the help he could get?

Maybe they could accomplish everything without the Mandalorian ever needing to know the truth.

It was so tempting.

She knew, though, that she couldn’t live with that lie. Partly because she’d feel guilty for her role in it, of course; but it was more than that. She needed him to know who Owen had been. She needed him to know what he had done, what he had taken from her and her family. It was true that she no longer sought revenge, but she could still seek acknowledgement. It was the only way that she could hope to move forward.

She steeled herself, her resolve hardening like Beskar in a hot forge. “You’re not listening to me. I’m telling you that I’m not who you think I am.”

The Mandalorian, hearing the seriousness in her tone, finally turned and fixed her with a steady gaze.

She swallowed.

From somewhere above them, there was an explosion.

The Mandalorian leapt into action before Korr had even processed the sound. He scooped up the child in one arm and she had just enough time to grab her leggings and boots before she was yanked forward. They ran toward the forest that lay at the edge of the beach. She glanced up at the bluff and saw the Razor Crest in flames.

“What was that?” she asked breathlessly, trying not to stumble as he pulled her along. “Hunters?”

He hesitated. “Maybe. Or Imps.”

“ _Here_?”

The Mandalorian stopped at the edge of the forest, turning to look back at the bluff. Korr pulled her leggings and boots on hastily. “Yes. Hunters don’t have that kind of firepower.”

“How could they have found us so quickly?”

“I don’t know. We should have had more time, unless someone with a tracking fob happened to be on-world….”

Korr stared at him uncomprehendingly and he told her, “Go into the forest and take cover. I’ll find you when it’s over.”

“You can’t take on an Imperial army by yourself.”

“Your being there won’t help my odds.”

She bristled at that. “I can hold – “

“You would be a distraction. I’ll fight better if I’m not distracted.”

“Why would I be a distraction?”

He didn’t reply to that.

Korr pressed him. “I can come with you. I can help – “

“No,” he said, and there was an urgency in his voice now. “You need to make sure the child is safe.”

That gave her pause. Korr didn’t like anything about this plan, but she knew that he was right. They had to keep the child out of the Moff’s hands – at any cost. It would be incredibly foolish for both of them to run back to the ship into what could be an obvious trap.

Reluctantly she took the foundling in her arms. He looked back and forth between them and chirped out a tentative question that neither of them answered.

The Mandalorian said to her, “There are credits hidden behind the armory on my ship. If anything happens, go to Raider’s Cove and buy passage with a ship captain. Get to Corellia and find a woman named Cara. Someone on the Alliance base there should know how to find her. Tell her I sent you, and she’ll help you.”

Korr nodded wordlessly. She wanted to tell him that everything was going to be okay, but she knew that if the Moff’s forces had truly found them, their odds weren’t good. They weren’t prepared to do battle with an Imperial remnant.

“Go,” the Mandalorian said.

Still, she hesitated. It didn’t feel right, to flee to safety while he remained to face off with their threat. Finally, she said lamely, “Just…be careful.”

He nodded, spared a final glance at the child, then turned and began doubling back toward the bluff. She ran in the opposite direction, into the woods.

In mere moments, the bright sunlight had been filtered out and only the occasional ray of sunlight managed to permeate the forest floor. Korr moved as fast as she dared, stumbling over gnarled and twisted roots that sprung up, interconnected, out of the dirt. The foundling was quiet in her arms.

“Do you understand what’s happening?” she asked him softly, and whether in understanding or simply the meaningless gesture of an infant, he shook his head. “You have to be quiet. We have to hide.”

There was a rustling sound from further down the trail and Korr froze. It was loud enough to have been caused by something large and she looked around wildly, shifting the child in her arm so that she could wrap her hand around his head in a feeble attempt to shield him.

She drew a dagger with her other hand.

Without further warning, a stormtrooper came through the trees. In a panic, before she was even sure that he had seen her, Korr threw her knife at him. It was a careless throw, off-balance and made in panic, and the blade struck his shoulder and glanced off his armor harmlessly. He turned in startlement and came toward her.

She backed up, reaching across her body for her other dagger, but the movement was awkward with the child there and the stormtrooper was nearly on top of her by the time she managed to grab it. With a silent apology, she dropped the child to the ground, knowing that she would need all of her strength for her next move.

This time she thrust the dagger into the trooper’s collarbone, just below his helmet, and the blade slid in easily. For a strange moment, he stood still, as if his brain was taking time to reconcile itself to the fact that he was dying, and then he fell backwards onto the ground with a heavy thud.

Korr bent down to retrieve her blade and the sound of gunfire cut through the air as a bright red blaster bolt slammed into the tree just behind her. She ducked as a branch crashed to the ground, instinctively curling her body around the child as she did so.

More troopers emerged from behind the trees. She turned to run but they had surrounded her and were closing the gap with practiced efficacy.

An icy fear settled in the pit of Korr’s stomach. This was an ambush – and she and the Mandalorian had played right into their hands.

She backed up, nearly tripping over a root.

“Stop.” A man’s voice rang out and Korr’s blood turned to ice in her veins. She knew that voice.

The Moff emerged from behind the line of troopers, his hands clasped in front of him. He smiled at her unpleasantly, his gaze lingering on the foundling in her arms, and said, “I was hoping I would run into you here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting real, guys. Hope you enjoyed this chapter half as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Just wanted to drop a quick note and give a heartfelt thanks to those who have been following this story. Your views, comments and kudos are what keep me going at times, and I appreciate it more than I can adequately express!


	19. Revealed

Over the years, the Razor Crest had come to mean many things to Din. It had become almost an extension of his own body at times, and now he felt a cold and impotent fury as he stared at the damage that had been done to it. The fuselage remained somewhat intact, but the twin engines mounted on either side of the ship had been destroyed and black smoke rose from the cowlings. Residual flames licked at the landing gear below and he stomped them out with his boot.

A quick look inside – Din didn’t bother to lower the landing ramp because he could simply step through the gaping hole in the ship’s hull – indicated that whoever had blown up the engines hadn’t bothered to steal or destroy anything else. It was clear that their only intention had been to disable; and they had succeeded, because on a backwoods planet like Rishi it was unlikely that he’d be able to find the parts needed to make the ship operational again.

They were stranded, but that was the least of his worries now.

Of greater concern was the fact that there had been no one waiting for him at the ship. Either it had been fired upon from a distance or a bomb had been rigged to explode on a timer.

So the attack had been a diversion, a prelude to a much larger event, and he had fallen for it.

Din quickly retrieved his Amban rifle from the ship, then strode to the edge of the bluff and scanned the horizon through its scope. The beach was empty, utterly devoid of movement. He could see his own tracks, and Korr’s, as they had run toward the trees. And –

In the stillness, the unmistakable sound of gunfire tore through the air and made his heart stutter. It was coming from the forest below.

The forest that he’d sent Korr into – with the foundling in her arms.

He turned and ran back down the steep hill that led to the forest, cursing his own stupidity, slipping on the slick grass in his haste and desperation. He felt panic taking ahold and tried to narrow his focus, to recall his training and find the place of cold detachment that had served him so well during his bounty hunting days – but it was useless. The thought of the foundling in the grip of the ruthless, power-hungry Moff made his chest tighten painfully.

And Korr. He knew that she would defend the child. If anything happened to her….

When had she come to mean that much to him?

After what felt like an eternity, the slope leveled out and Din came to the faint game trail that led through the forest to the beach. He turned down the path, intending to retrace his steps back to where he had left Korr and the foundling – but something bright and unnaturally white caught his eye and gave him pause.

The body of a stormtrooper lay atop a blanket of ferns. A small dagger with a familiar hilt protruded from his throat, just below the helmet.

Din bent down and pulled the knife out of the body, wiping the blood off on his cloak and placing it in an interior pocket of his tunic. He spotted its companion lying harmlessly in the dirt nearby. Korr’s first thrust, presumably. He took that one, too.

So she had encountered the remnant. She had killed one of them. And now she had no weapons.

With a growing sense of unease, he knelt and studied the ground. The dirt had been disturbed, and not just by his own footprints. He recognized the distinctive tread of stormtrooper boots.

They had been moving quickly. Judging by the angle of the broken grass underfoot, they had headed away from the beach, in the opposite direction. And there had been a lot of them.

Din spotted another boot print intermingled with the others – this one was smaller and less defined, partially obliterated by the tracks that had followed.

Korr.

Her print was both above and below the other tracks, so she hadn’t been running from them or in pursuit. She had been _with_ them.

His anger was an iron fist in his gut, its intensity dwarfed only by that of his fear.

Din followed the tracks as they carved a thick swath through the forest. About a mile later, the forest came to an end at the edge of what appeared to be a clearing of some sort; perhaps another beach, though it was difficult to tell. Here, the ground rose up into a squat, broad hill, making it impossible to see beyond without gaining a higher vantage point.

He stopped several hundred yards back and positioned himself behind a large tree, unslinging the rifle from his back and peering through the scope at his surroundings. The weapon’s heat sensor picked up two large thermal images, shaped like stormtroopers, stationed at the bottom of the hill.

Without ceremony, Din sighted on the first stormtrooper with his rifle and fired. A high-pitched whine rang out as the weapon fired an energy beam fueled by blaster gas – and then there was nothing but dust motes and ash floating in the space where the trooper had stood an instant earlier.

His fellow sentry didn’t have a chance to call for help before he was vaporized as well.

Staying low to the ground, Din ran up the hill and dropped onto his belly to survey the scene.

He was looking down at a small, circular bay that opened up to the sea via a narrow, rocky inlet. The Imps had chosen their base on Rishi well. The precipitously-walled cove was surrounded by towering cliffs, making it an easily defensible position, and at the far edge of the cove was an Imperial dropship. Din studied it with dread.

Only large spacecraft required the use of dropships, or transports – spacecraft like a Moff’s Star Destroyer. Not only did its presence indicate that there were more Imps on a much larger ship waiting just above the planet’s atmosphere; but it also meant that Moff Gideon, sure to be aboard his own ship, was close.

How had he found them here?

There were dozens of troopers gathered on the beach, standing in formation just outside of the dropship. Most of them wore the standard-issue white armor of Imperial stormtroopers, but several were outfitted in the striking black armor of the Empire’s elite variant military.

Moff Gideon had sent death troopers to Rishi.

There was no sign of Korr or the foundling, and Din had a split-second of hopeful doubt. Maybe he’d jumped to conclusions. Perhaps the Imps hadn’t found them after all – the gunfire that he’d heard could have been directed at an attacking vornskr or a nexu, for all he knew.

But he had seen that boot print on the trail and –

Din caught a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye, and he threw himself to the side just in time to avoid being nailed by a sparking stun baton. The stormtrooper thrust the baton forward again and instinctively Din raised his arm to block the assault. Electricity ripped through his body as the baton connected with his vambrace and he gritted his teeth in pain, somehow managing to break away and hurl himself forward into the body of his attacker. He knocked the trooper to the ground and kicked the weapon out of his grasp, then punched him in the helmet. Before the trooper could recover, Din pulled his blaster and shot him in the head.

He stood over the body, breathing hard as he tried to overcome the effects of the shock and coax control back into his fingers. Shouts had broken out below – the troopers had been alerted by the sound of the fired blaster. A quick glance over the hill confirmed that they were moving rapidly in his direction.

So much for the element of surprise.

 _Fuck_ , it would have been nice to have Cara by his side just then.

Din leapt over the hill, pulling his second blaster from its holster and firing both weapons at the stormtroopers as he slid down the dirt slope on his back. He had no clear strategy or intention, other than to try to even the odds by taking out as many Imps as possible until they stopped him.

He killed several in the first few seconds, but a lucky shot knocked one of the blasters out of his hand and left his fingers stinging with the burn of it. Din rolled to his feet at the bottom of the hill and ignited the flamethrower on his vambrace. The stormtroopers within range of the weapon caught on fire and the air filled with screams and the smell of charred flesh as they burned to death inside of their armor.

Too quickly, though, the flamethrower fizzled out. A pulse of laser fire slammed into Din’s cuirass and he stumbled backward, managing to turn just in time to see a death trooper lunge at him from behind. He dodged the brunt of the attack, but the Imp got a hand around Din’s neck and threw him to the ground with so much force that his teeth rattled in his skull. He pulled his vibroblade from his shin guard and thrust it into his attacker’s neck, just below the helmet. The death trooper collapsed on top of him and with effort, Din shoved him off.

He staggered to his feet and looked around wildly for the next threat, but, inexplicably, there was none.

The first thing he noticed was that the stormtroopers had backed away to form a wide circle, effectively surrounding him and blocking off all escape routes.

As if they were waiting for something. Or someone.

The second thing that caught his attention was the realization that at some point during the short-lived skirmish, the dropship’s landing ramp had been lowered and now an all too familiar figure in a long dark cloak stood in its doorway.

“Din Djarin,” Moff Gideon said, and his voice rang out in the sudden quiet.

Din really wished he would stop using his name.

He brought up his remaining pistol and aimed it at Gideon. The sound of dozens of blasters being charged and leveled in response echoed through the cove.

“I wouldn’t be too hasty if I were you,” the Moff said, striding down the ramp. The sound of a scuffle could be heard coming from the darkness of the ship’s cargo bay, and then Korr appeared in the doorway behind him, being pushed forward by two death troopers. She looked scared and defiant, but otherwise unhurt. Her eyes locked on his.

A third trooper followed with the foundling in his arms.

Din’s heart stopped, then started again at a frenzied pace.

The stormtroopers surrounding him parted to let Gideon and his entourage enter. He approached Din and stopped several feet away, his hands clasped in front of him.

“You look surprised to see me,” he said, smiling at his own little joke.

Din didn’t reply. He was staring past Gideon at the foundling, who had a small silver collar around his neck. The child looked back at him with fear and confusion, his eyes wide. Then he whimpered, and Din felt something inside of him crack painfully. His finger tensed around the trigger.

“Are you admiring Doctor Pershing’s handiwork?” Moff Gideon asked. “The collar will ensure that he doesn’t interfere with our time together today. I learned my lesson from our last encounter.”

“If you’ve hurt him – “

“Not yet. What happens next depends on you.”

What did the Moff want with _him_? He already had possession of the foundling. Why hadn’t he simply killed Korr and left the planet?

Din could think of only one reason. Revenge. He knew how much Gideon hated him – that had been made abundantly clear during the time he had spent as his prisoner. That hatred would have only grown and festered since Din had escaped with the foundling and once again foiled his plans.

By staying on Rishi to force this confrontation, the Moff was demonstrating a willingness to prioritize his desire for revenge over his plans for the child. Perhaps that would give Din an opportunity.

He decided to try another approach. “Let the girl go.”

“Why would I do that?”

“She’s not a part of this.”

“Is that really what you think?” Gideon glanced back at Korr, who was staring at the ground. “How disappointing to think that I may have been overestimating your intelligence all this time.”

Din refused to rise to the bait. “Let her go, and I’ll surrender.”

Korr looked at him in horror.

“You are not in a position to negotiate,” Gideon replied. “Now drop your blaster.”

He didn’t move.

“I may not be inclined to dispose of the Asset just yet,” the Moff said, his voice a low threat. “But I won’t hesitate to shoot the girl. She means nothing to me.”

“I’ll kill you before you get the chance.”

“Maybe. But my troopers are under orders to shoot all of you if that happens. And even you can’t take on an entire army.”

“Don’t do it,” Korr said to Din, the first words she’d spoken since the confrontation had begun. Gideon turned and backhanded her across the face, knocking her to the ground. A moment later, he had a blazing black sword pointed at her face.

Din recognized the Darksaber immediately – not only had he faced it during his last confrontation with the Moff on Nevarro, but the legendary weapon had been forged by a Mandalorian a thousand years ago and long been held as a symbol of union and leadership by those who followed the Creed. Up until recently, it had been in the possession of Bo-Katan Kryze, the leader of the Mandalorians, but at some point Moff Gideon had managed to get his hands on it.

It was the weapon of _his_ people, and the sight of it in the Imp’s hands fanned flames of fury in Din’s chest.

Most people, however, had never seen a lightsaber up close, and Korr’s eyes widened with terror as the fearsome beam of black energy buzzed just inches from her face. The Moff glanced over at Din.

“I’m losing my patience,” he said. “Drop your blaster, and don’t even think about firing off your whistling birds, or whatever other weapons you have hidden in that armor of yours. I promise you that she’ll be dead before you do.”

Din had used the last of his whistling birds on Sorgan, but he didn’t see any need to tell Gideon that.

“Don’t,” Korr repeated. Her lip was bleeding and there was a rawness to her voice that hurt to hear. “It’s not worth it.”

Gideon glanced at her. “Don’t start selling yourself short now.”

She ignored him and looked at Din, pleading with him. “ _Run_.”

He didn’t reply. He only had one option, and it didn’t involve running. A cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck.

This was going to hurt.

He tossed his blaster on the ground in front of him.

Gideon nodded at his troopers and they moved in immediately.

The first death trooper hit him with a stun baton in the back and the jolt of electricity took him to his knees.

Before he could catch his breath, another trooper kicked him savagely in the side with a heavy boot and Din grunted as pain ricocheted along his ribs. As the Imp made to kick him again, he reached out and caught his ankle, yanking his foot out from under him, and the trooper crashed to the ground with a groan.

A death trooper who was as tall and broad as Paz lunged at Din, getting both hands on the rim of his helmet, and panic flooded his senses. He grabbed the trooper’s wrists and, with tremendous effort, managed to rip them away – then someone kicked the back of his leg and his knees buckled.

He tried to get to his feet but something heavy slammed into his helmet, snapping his head forward, and he fell in a daze. A trooper kicked him between the shoulder blades and he sprawled out on the ground as others converged upon him in a merciless onslaught of kicks, punches, and baton strikes. Someone struck him in the ribs again, squarely in the side where he had been grazed by the Chistori’s blaster, with enough force to flip him over onto his back, and the pain brought tears to his eyes. Yet another trooper stepped forward and slammed a boot down onto his sternum, knocking the air out of his lungs with a painful jolt, and it was all Din could do to curl into himself reflexively, trying to protect vital organs.

A particularly brutal strike caught him in the side of the helmet and stars shot through his vision. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth.

It seemed to go on for hours. He didn’t know how many hits the stormtroopers delivered to his body, how long they hovered over him, how many pained grunts he released despite telling himself over and over again to deny them the satisfaction of hearing him cry out.

Din couldn’t fight back. If he did, he knew that Gideon would kill Korr.

If only he could get to the child –

The bite of a stun baton clamped down on his side and all coherent thought fled in a fiery riptide of agony as he convulsed on the ground. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream, couldn’t do anything but grit his teeth and try not to bite his tongue in half. His vision blurred and faded, came back into focus, faded again.

Distantly he heard Korr beg, “Please stop. You’re killing him.”

And Gideon’s response – “Shouldn’t you be thanking me?”

He must have misheard that….

Eventually the baton was pulled away and Din lay gasping and trembling on the ground as the dissipating shocks left his body. Blackness crowded the edges of his vision but he clung to consciousness with all of his strength. If he passed out now, Gideon would have no reason to delay their deaths any longer.

Two troopers bent down and grabbed him roughly by his arms, hauling him up. They seemed to want him to stand but his shaking legs refused to work properly, so they settled for bringing him to his knees and pinning his arms behind his back. His stomach heaved at the sudden movement and he fought the urge to vomit.

Gideon approached, still holding the Darksaber. He said, “I can’t tell you how often I’ve thought of this moment.”

Din lifted his head with effort, found Korr and the child behind the Moff. Both wore similar expressions of horror on their faces. _It’s okay_ , he wanted to say, but he knew that was a lie. The threat of death didn’t frighten him – indeed, there were times over the years that he had _longed_ for it – but he knew that their chances of escape, however slim now, would die with him.

His heart broke for the child. In the end, he had failed to do anything other than delay the foundling’s death. He should have left him with the Jedi, he realized now. But he had been too proud and too sentimental to see that then, and now the child – and quite possibly, the galaxy – would pay for his foolishness.

And then there was Korr. He had allowed an innocent girl to be dragged into all of this. Her blood was on his hands, too.

He should have left her on Coruscant.

He should have taught her…how to swim….

His mind was wandering now, thoughts floating haphazardly in the gathering darkness.

Gideon was still speaking. Din forced himself to focus on what he was saying.

“But now I’ve concluded that death would be too good for you. Better instead for you to have to live with the knowledge that you failed to protect the Asset and that you were betrayed by someone you trusted.”

Din stared at him in groggy confusion.

Gideon took Korr by the arm and dragged her forward so that she stood beside him. She had a look of absolute and abject misery on her face, and Din was suddenly reminded of the night on Sorgan under a bright full moon, when she had turned and looked at him with eyes so full of hate that he’d almost gone for his blaster.

What had she said to him on the beach?

_I’m telling you that I’m not who you think I am._

Another wave of nausea swept over him.

“Din Djarin,” Gideon said, thrusting Korr forward. “You can thank your companion for your present circumstances. She may be the only other person in the universe who wants to kill you as badly as I do.”


	20. A Plea

If Korr could have wrestled Gideon’s lightsaber away from him, she would have stabbed him through the heart with it and then turned it on herself.

Death would be a welcome relief from the hell that she was in now.

Moments earlier, she had stood by helplessly while the Imps had proceeded to beat the shit out of the Mandalorian for what felt like an eternity. He hadn’t fought back, not really, and it had made for an incredibly brutal, one-sided assault. Korr had flinched at every blow he took, trembling at his grunts and groans and sounds of pain. It felt as if every second of his agony was taking years off of her own life.

Of course, that wasn’t true. The Mandalorian was the one being beaten to death, not her.

It was _because_ of her that he was being beaten to death.

Gods, she wished it was her.

When she had begged Gideon to stop, he had only fixed her with a cold, deliberate smile and asked, “Shouldn’t you be thanking me?”

Those words, uttered with such needling smugness, had filled her with so much crazed rage that she thought she would split apart.

It sickened her to see how much he was enjoying this.

Now, the Moff pushed her toward his prisoner and said, “You can thank your friend for your present circumstances. She may be the only other person in the universe who wants to kill you as badly as I do.”

Korr didn’t think she’d ever wanted to kill the Mandalorian as badly as she did Moff Gideon in that moment.

She forced herself to look into the black glass of the Mandalorian’s visor, to do her best to meet his gaze. For the first time she was glad for the helmet, glad not to see the confusion, disgust, and pain surely reflected in his eyes.

She knew that he was waiting for her to deny the Moff’s statement, to rail against the unjust accusation, to reinforce her loyalty to him and the foundling.

He might even believe her if she did.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and her voice broke on the first syllable. “I never meant for this to happen.”

His head dropped then, his gaze sliding away, as if the weight of her words had settled over his neck like chains of steel.

Gideon said, “I take it she never told you how she came to me on Nevarro, desperate to find the man who killed her brother.”

In the grasp of the troopers, the Mandalorian stiffened.

“He was one of the hunters who tried to stop you the night you stole the Asset from me. I’m certain you wouldn’t remember him. He would have been nothing more than the briefest of considerations to you, merely an obstacle standing between you and your ship. The girl arrived on Nevarro with one goal in mind – to avenge her brother, to find the man who had murdered him in cold blood and exact the only justice left to her. A noble cause,” Gideon said, glancing at her, “even if she did get confused near the end.”

Korr’s vision blurred as angry, futile tears filled her eyes. This wasn’t justice for Owen. There was nothing honorable or redemptive or _right_ about any of this. This was senseless and horrific. This was pain and loss being used to perpetuate more pain and loss. And it was all because of her.

“We have been in close communication ever since she found you on Arvala-7,” Gideon continued. “I knew when you were on your way to Coruscant, and I knew when you left and headed for the Rishi Maze.”

“No,” Korr said desperately, pleading with the Mandalorian, who remained on his knees utterly still and silent. “I never told him we were on Rishi. I – “

“You must see that this has all come to pass as a direct result of your own actions,” the Moff said to him, as if she had never spoken. “If you hadn’t stolen the Asset, you never would have gotten into a shootout with your fellow Guild members. If you hadn’t killed this girl’s brother, she never would have had a reason to set down this dark path in the first place. I wonder – with all of the death and destruction that you’ve caused, how many families have you torn apart? How many others have you forced down a similar path?”

“Please stop,” Korr said wretchedly. _You’ve already won_. “You don’t have to do this.”

He ignored her and studied the Mandalorian. “You’re quiet now. Feeling the sting of betrayal, perhaps?”

The Mandalorian didn’t reply. Judging by the tilt of his helmet, he wasn’t looking at either of them anymore – rather, he was staring somewhere between the ground and the boots of the troopers behind Gideon.

Gideon looked at Korr. “You must have been incredibly convincing. Well done.”

“I’m sorry I ever helped you,” she said.

He just smiled and crouched down in front of the Mandalorian. “I owe you my thanks, as well. By keeping the Asset out of my hands for as long as you have, you’ve given the doctor time to perfect the method to extract what I need. It will take longer than I had originally anticipated, but it will allow us to capture more of the raw material and reduce transfer loss.” He paused, then said, “I am told that the creature will be in a great deal of pain for the entirety of the process.”

With an unexpected speed and agility that belied his condition, no doubt born out of sheer rage and desperation, the Mandalorian pulled free from the death troopers and lunged at the Moff.

Gideon, surprised by the attack, dropped his lightsaber as he was knocked to the ground by the impact. The two troopers who had been restraining the Mandalorian rushed forward and Korr leapt at the nearest one, trying to get her arms around his neck, but she was weaponless and he flung her off as if she was no more troublesome than an errant porg.

All the while, the child wailed in the background.

The troopers grabbed the Mandalorian and dragged him backward. Gideon staggered to his feet, his face red and his eyes wide and bulging. He retrieved his lightsaber from the ground, stalked toward the Mandalorian and thrust the blade through his leg – into the thigh, just below the Beskar – so viciously that Korr half-expected to see it come out the other side. The Mandalorian screamed and she stifled a cry of her own as he crumpled to the ground.

With a savage twist of the wrist, Gideon wrenched the sword out of his leg and a spray of blood burst from the wound with it. The wretched cry that came afterward constricted her heart into a painful fisted knot. The Mandalorian lay on his back, his injured leg twisted uselessly in front of him, gloved fingers scrabbling in the dirt as he tried in vain to push himself up.

Gideon drew his pistol and she had a split-second of horror, supposing that he was about to kill the Mandalorian – but instead he shot the two death troopers behind him. They fell to the ground, dead.

None of the Imps surrounding them so much as twitched at that sudden display of brutality.

Korr tried to go to the Mandalorian, but Gideon took her arm in a painful grip and pulled her close to him.

“You’ll understand if I decline to give you the reward for the bounty,” he said coldly. “As it was, I had to do too much of the legwork myself.” He added, “Most who try to double-cross me don’t survive it. Count yourself lucky and pray that we never see each other again.”

Gideon glanced down at the Mandalorian. “I had initially thought to kill you, but now I think it’s better to leave you alive with the knowledge that you failed. Who knows? Perhaps the two of you will kill each other.”

He started walking back toward the dropship. The trooper holding the child turned to follow him and the foundling let out a panicked, heart-wrenching screech, struggling in the Imp’s arms, reaching out for the Mandalorian.

Spurred on anew by the sound of the child’s cry, the Mandalorian tried to get up but his leg buckled under him and he fell back to the ground heavily. Korr dropped to her knees beside him and tried to help him up but he shrugged her off.

“Please,” he called after Gideon, nearly his first word since this had all begun, and there was a desperate catch, a _brokenness_ , in his voice that she had never heard before. It shook her more than any of the violence that had preceded it and shattered what little was left of her composure.

The Moff looked back at the Mandalorian with a thin smile. “I really wish I had more time to enjoy this, but the doctor and I have a lot of work to do in the coming days.”

Gideon and his troops walked up the landing ramp of the transport, and Korr took an unsteady step after them, wanting to follow, knowing that doing so would be futile. There was a fiery blast of heat as the dropship took off, sand spraying everywhere, and then the cove was empty and as quiet as death.

For a moment, Korr stared up at the point in the sky at which the dropship had exited the atmosphere, at the tiny plume of exhaust that remained.

They were gone. The child was gone.

When she turned to the Mandalorian, she saw that he was dragging himself across the beach, leaving a crimson trail of blood in his wake. She realized what he was doing just as he reached the discarded blaster lying on the ground. He picked it up and turned awkwardly, managing to bring his good knee up to stabilize himself, and aimed it straight at her.

Korr swallowed.

His hands were shaking as he gripped the pistol – whether out of pain, exhaustion, or emotion, she couldn’t tell.

“You have every right,” she said. “I won’t pretend that I don’t deserve it.”

He didn’t reply.

“…but if you kill me, you’re as good as dead.”

“You think…that…s-still matters?” the Mandalorian asked, and the chill in his voice dried the tears on her face instantly.

Korr sidestepped the question and said, “We have to treat your leg. We can go back to the ship – “

“No.”

“If you don’t let me help you, you’re going to bleed out here on the beach. And we’ll have no chance of getting the child back.”

No response. But he hadn’t shot her yet, and that had to count for something.

She took a step toward him. Then another. “I can’t ask you to trust me. I know that. But please let me help you. If there’s even a chance that we can save him….”

The Mandalorian made a sound then, something between a disbelieving scoff and a cry, and visibly trembled. He had to be in incredible pain, she knew – the beating that he’d taken probably would have killed him if not for the Beskar, and he was losing a lot of blood from the gaping hole in his leg. It was a wonder that he was still alive, much less conscious.

Korr closed the gap between them and sank to her knees in front of him, close enough that he could press the barrel of the blaster against her forehead if he wanted to.

He didn’t. Instead, he recoiled from her, his breath coming in short, pained _huffs_ , and she was reminded of a wounded animal, terrified and fighting for its life.

“Please,” she said softly. “Let me help you.”

The gun slipped from the Mandalorian’s fingers and he slumped forward, unconscious. Korr caught him around the shoulders and gently eased him down onto the sand.


	21. An Awakening

Time passed for Din in a series of sounds and sensations. Pain was the only constant, keeping him grounded, jarring him back to consciousness over and over. Hands under his arms, dragging him backwards across rough, uneven terrain. Searing agony radiating from his leg, spreading throughout his entire body, made worse by every bump and sharp edge on the ground beneath him.

Every time darkness claimed him, it felt like a mercy.

The next time he woke up, he was back at his ship, staring up at the ceiling of the cargo bay. The smell of charred metal was nauseating and it was so bright – someone was shining a light haphazardly into his face – and he could hear clanging metal, things being thrown around, someone ransacking the hell out of his ship, and he thought that he should look around, at the very least lift up his head and –

Then there was something hot pressed firmly against his leg, sizzling and burning, fire meeting flesh, setting his insides ablaze, and his vision went white-hot and then dark again. He heard a distant scream, tasted bile rising violently in his throat – but in the jumbled, delirious mess of his mind, it was hard to tell where the dreams ended and reality began.

He must have passed out again, because the next time he awoke, it felt as if he had been in the darkness for a long time.

The soft light of morning streamed in from the hole in the side of his ship.

He could still hear the child’s screams echoing in his head from whatever feverish nightmare he had been having.

There was a foul odor in his helmet.

It smelled like….

His stomach heaved and he desperately rolled to the side, gagging. Nothing came out – likely because, judging from the smell, he’d already emptied the contents of his stomach sometime in the night. With his helmet on.

So that hadn’t been a dream. It was a wonder that he hadn’t choked to death.

Din swallowed and took several deep breaths before straightening up. His head spun with the sudden movement and waves of pain coursed through his body in response. He gritted his teeth against a low groan.

He was in the med bay of his ship, he realized. On the floor of the med bay, to be more specific. The interior of his ship was blackened and charred but he could see that the contents of the nearby supply cabinet spilled out onto the floor. They seemed relatively unscathed; the steel doors must have protected them from the blast.

He looked down and saw that the fabric of his flight suit had been cut away to expose the wound in his thigh. It had been heavily, clumsily cauterized, and the surrounding skin had been cleaned, though the rest of his clothing was stiff and dark with dried blood.

 _Korr_.

His last conscious thought before he had passed out at the beach had been that she was as likely to kill him as to help him, and it came as a bit of a surprise to find that he was still alive.

She was sitting upright against the opposite wall of the med bay, asleep. Her face was streaked with grime and her hair had come loose from its bun and hung in limp, dirty strands. There was a half-eaten protein bar lying on the floor beside her and she was holding one of his blasters in a bloody hand.

What she intended to protect herself from, he wasn’t sure.

Din studied her. A range of emotions, almost frightening in their intensity, swelled within him.

His first instinct was to kill her. She had lied to him for weeks, had betrayed him to Moff Gideon, and as a result the Imp had managed to capture the foundling.

He would shoot her in the head and throw her body off the cliff, and it would still be better than she deserved.

But there was another emotion that tugged at him – something that, though dark and unsettling and painful, lacked the urgency and the violence of his anger. It took him a moment to recognize it, but when he did it flooded his senses, threatening to overwhelm him.

Guilt.

He had lost the child.

The Moff’s words echoed in his mind. _How many families have you torn apart? How many have you forced down a similar path?_

Din decided to focus on his anger. That, he knew, would be more productive than dwelling on his guilt.

With effort, he managed to roll over and push himself to his good knee. His arms shook with the effort and every bone, muscle, and tendon in his body screamed in protest. The beating that he had taken at the hands of the Imps wasn’t the worse that he’d ever endured, but it ranked near the top. He almost certainly had a concussion from the repeated blows to his helmet, and he knew from experience that the sharp pain in his side meant cracked ribs, possibly broken. Again. His neck was stiff, an aching pain radiated from his shoulder blades down his spine, and there would be bruises everywhere.

He’d also been stabbed with a lightsaber. Fortunately, it appeared that Gideon had missed hitting any major arteries – and in fact, the cauterizing properties of the weapon might have helped to stop any internal bleeding.

Gingerly, Din tried to stand up. Blinding pain shot up his injured leg and he promptly collapsed to the floor with a stifled shout of pain.

Korr started awake at the noise. She looked at him groggily for a moment through puffy, bloodshot eyes, and then comprehension – and wariness – dawned in her expression. She gathered her legs beneath her, laid the gun down on the floor, and stood up stiffly. After a moment’s hesitation, she reached out and tentatively offered him her hand.

Din ignored it and, with a singular lack of grace, managed to maneuver himself into a sitting position with his back against the side of the cot.

After a moment, Korr sat back down and asked mildly, “How are you feeling?”

It was a stupid question, and he didn’t reply.

She said, “You may want to…clean up. When I cauterized your wound, you – “

“I know,” he replied. And then, because he needed to know, “You didn’t remove my helmet?”

“No. I turned you to the side so you wouldn’t choke. I meant to stay up all night, but….” She paused. “I can help you to your cabin, if you want.”

Din said, “You’ve done enough.”

Tears filled Korr’s eyes and she blinked them away furiously. She looked utterly exhausted, and he wondered how long it had taken her to drag him from the beach all the way up the bluff.

She stared at the gun lying on the floor in front of her, carefully avoiding his gaze. After a moment, she said, “I know that I have no right to ask you to believe anything I say, but I never meant to harm the child.”

A sharp pain settled into Din’s chest at the mention of the foundling. It threatened to undo him, to send him spiraling into a panic, and he steeled himself against it, recalling the reliable comfort of his anger to the forefront of his mind. Anger was safe.

“You delivered him to the Imps,” he said coldly. _You betrayed me._

“No,” she said, and shook her head fiercely. “No. I met with the Moff on Nevarro and made a deal with him – it’s true. What he told me then matched up with what I knew about how my brother had died – that a Mandalorian hunter had stolen back the bounty, kept the reward, and killed members of his own Guild when they tried to stop him. Gideon offered me a tracking fob, and in return I was supposed to retrieve the stolen bounty for him. I didn’t know what it was when I agreed to the deal.”

“You were stupid to trust him.”

“I didn’t trust him,” Korr said. “But I was desperate. I arrived on Nevarro months after it…happened, and the trail had gone cold.”

She was quiet for a moment. “By the time we got to Coruscant, though, I had figured out what Gideon was after – and what the child was capable of. I knew that I could never follow through with the deal I’d made. I should have told you the truth then, but I was afraid that you’d kill me. Later, I was afraid that you’d just leave me behind – and I wanted to help. I still want to help.”

He didn’t reply to that and she said, “I was going to tell you everything…at the beach.”

“Was that before or after you told Gideon how to find us?”

Korr shook her head vehemently. “I don’t know how he found out where we were. He called me the day we were at the market, but I only answered because I thought I could learn something useful. About his plans, or his next move. Something that we could use to defeat him.”

Din studied her through narrowed eyes. He had a blinding headache and the smell inside of his helmet was making him nauseous. He said, “For all I know, you planned the entire thing with Gideon – up until the encounter in the cove. He already had you and the child by the time I got there.”

There was a pause.

“If I wanted to kill you,” Korr replied softly, “we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Believe me, keeping you alive over the last twelve hours was much harder than any alternative.”

_Believe me._

He stared at her.

After a moment, she pushed the blaster toward him. “Go ahead, if it’ll make you feel better. If you can’t trust me anymore, you might as well do it. I’ll be of no further use to you.”

Din picked up the gun, felt the comforting weight in his hand.

It would be so easy.

Instead, and against his better judgment, he heard himself say, “Your brother….”

Korr was crying again, and this time she made no effort to brush away the tears. “My twin. You’ll never know what he meant to me.”

He was wrong. There was nothing easy about any of this.

“I hated you for taking him away from me. I don’t know – maybe I still do, in some way. But the truth is that I’ve been on your side for a long time now, long before I wanted to be. Your purpose – to protect the child, to keep him safe and help him find some happiness – has become my purpose.”

It bothered Din, how badly he wanted that to be the truth.

It bothered him that try as he might, he couldn’t conjure the face of a single man that he had killed that night, much less one that might have born some resemblance to the woman in front of him. They had been as Gideon had said – mere obstacles unfortunate enough to be in his way.

He had killed hundreds of men over the course of his life, had consigned countless more to years spent wallowing in prisons or suffering untold punishment at the hands of those who sought them. While there had been times when that had weighed heavily on his conscience, he had comforted himself with the knowledge that the individuals he came across were never truly innocent.

But that night on Nevarro, he had killed members of his own Guild, men who were only doing what he himself might have done if the roles had been reversed.

Men such as Korr’s brother.

Din put the gun down. He suddenly felt exhausted, and overwhelmed. The foundling had been taken and he had no idea how to find him. He had been beaten to within an inch of his life and could barely walk. His ship was in shambles. And the woman that he had started to trust had been lying to him all along.

He pressed down on the cot with his hands and managed, by sheer force of will, to push himself into a standing position. His leg felt as if it was burning up from the inside out and he wanted nothing more than to lie still for just a little longer, but he _had_ to clean out his helmet before the smell made him pass out again.

Korr remained seated and looked up at him. “What are you going to do now?”

“I’m going to take a shower.”


	22. A Lifeline

Korr felt as if someone had taken a cleaver to her heart and split it in half, exposing every ugly truth and painful hurt that it held. The events of the last twenty-four hours had broken her wide open, and she felt at once raw, vulnerable, and empty.

At the same time, though, she felt a weary sense of relief. Though she and the Mandalorian had nearly not survived the telling, there were no longer any lies between them; no truths to dance around or fictions to create or facts to conceal.

He’d either forgive her or he wouldn’t. And then they’d move on, either together or apart.

She told herself that she’d be okay with whatever happened next.

After his shower, the Mandalorian had disappeared into his cabin. The halting cadence of his footsteps and the distinctive sound of a boot being dragged across the floor had betrayed his condition, and Korr nearly climbed to the upper deck to see if he needed help – but she knew that her assistance would not have been welcomed.

Instead, she had gone into the refresher afterward and used the shower herself. It felt a bit presumptuous, and the water was bitingly cold, but she desperately needed a good cleaning – she was covered in sand, dirt, grime, and blood; and she had spent the last twelve hours drenched in sweat as she had dragged the Mandalorian back to his ship, inch by excruciating inch.

He wasn’t a particularly big man, but he was larger than her, and with his armor he outweighed her significantly. She had nearly collapsed several times as she had pulled him up the bluff. The only thing that had kept her going was the thought of the foundling, of knowing that his survival depended on _this_ man’s survival.

The Mandalorian’s breaths were coming in faint, irregular gasps by the time she’d gotten him to the ship. He had been half-conscious as she had started to cauterize the wound and when he had started to gag, she had nearly taken off his helmet – his creed be damned, she wouldn’t let it cost him his life – but in the end, she had stopped herself, pulled her hands away.

If she removed his helmet and he survived, she knew that she would only be condemning him to a different kind of death.

And, as he had said, she had done enough.

So she had turned him over and tried to make sure that he wouldn’t choke on his own vomit, then sat there beside him for the rest of the night, guarding his troubled, pain-induced sleep, watching the rise and fall of his chest.

Korr thought about everything and nothing during that long night. She thought of the foundling in the hands of the Imps, alone and terrified in some cold dark place. She imagined him confused, crying for the Mandalorian. She wondered if he understood enough to know what she had done, the role she had played in orchestrating his capture. She wondered if he was in pain, and that thought was so devastating that it stole her breath away.

She thought about Owen. Over the last several months, she had somehow managed to convince herself that the only thing that would make his death bearable would be to exact revenge for it, to make his killer suffer as she had, to ensure that he died alone and at her hand.

Now she knew the truth – that Owen’s death would never be bearable, though the sharp edges of her grief might fade in time. Making the Mandalorian pay for his crime wouldn’t bring her any peace. That had been made painfully clear as she had watched Gideon torment him on the beach.

How furious her brother would be if he knew what she had done in his name.

She knew that if the Mandalorian recovered, there was a very real chance that he would kill her as soon as he had the opportunity – and yet she had found herself praying to all the gods that he’d survive the night.

He had. Now it remained to be seen what would happen next.

After her shower, Korr washed and dried her tunic as best as she could, then got redressed, thinking wistfully of the clean clothes that she had packed in her starfighter, long ago abandoned somewhere in the Arvalan desert.

When she emerged from the refresher, she noticed that the door to the cockpit was open and tentatively peered in from the doorway. The Mandalorian was sitting in the captain’s chair, studying the screen and flicking switches and knobs in a seemingly random order with no apparent effect. The smell of charred metal lingered in the air, but the blast had not reached the cockpit and she felt a quick surge of hope.

The chair where the foundling normally sat was conspicuously empty, and she averted her gaze from it.

“Will it fly?” she asked.

The Mandalorian didn’t reply, but the fist that he slammed down onto the console in frustration gave her the answer.

“Can we find the parts we need to repair it here?”

Again, no response. Before Korr could wonder whether she was going to have to start reading the Mandalorian’s body language in order to communicate with him, he said tersely, “Unlikely.”

“Then we can go to Raider’s Cove, find a ship captain to give us a ride.”

He flicked more switches. “And go where?”

“Nevarro?”

“Gideon won’t be stupid enough to go back there.”

“We can track him, then. There can’t be that many Imperial Star Destroyers drifting around the galaxy.”

“You need a working nav system in order to track something.” There was another long, measured pause. His reticence reminded her of when they had first met on Arvala-7, and she felt a wave of sadness at the knowledge that any trust that had started to develop between them was completely destroyed, likely forever.

She didn’t blame him.

Finally, the Mandalorian said, “He’ll have jumped by now. He could be anywhere.”

Korr heard a tired resignation in his voice. She said, “The foundling is still alive. We can’t give up.”

Without looking at her, he replied, “You should have thought about that before putting us in an impossible position.”

Now it was her turn to be silent.

After a moment, he asked, “Do you still have the tracking fob that Gideon gave you?”

Korr shook her head, regret and shame weighting her body like lead. “No. I…gave it to you on Coruscant. When we were attacked by the Chistori.”

That was surprising enough to make him turn and look at her. “The Chistori?”

“I wasn’t moving fast enough for Gideon’s liking by then, so he opened a contract on me. The Chistori were hunting me that night, not the child.” She was speaking slowly now, forcing herself to get the words out. He couldn’t possibly hate her _more_ , could he? “Their fob was keyed to me, so I gave you the one I had so that you wouldn’t…learn the truth. That was the one that you destroyed.”

The Mandalorian turned away from her again. He was silent – marveling at the depths of her deception, perhaps, or thinking about how much better his current circumstances would be if he hadn’t intervened and saved her from the Chistori that night.

An uncomfortable silence filled the cockpit until Korr felt like she was being physically squeezed out of it, and she decided that she would go down to Raider’s Cove and find a man with a ship. It didn’t matter who he was or where he was going as long as his destination was developed enough to have spacecraft available for purchase. Before she could inform the Mandalorian of her plans, however, she heard the distant but distinct sound of an engine. It was wildly out of place in the early morning quiet, and fear spiked in her veins.

The Mandalorian leaned forward in his chair, scanning the sky through the front windows of the cockpit, and Korr followed his gaze. A small dark speck could be seen in the distance – a starship, and, judging by its steadily increasing size, one that was headed straight for them.

“Imps?” she asked in alarm. Had Gideon decided to come back and finish the job?

But the Mandalorian shook his head.

He watched the incoming ship for another moment, then pressed down on the armrests of his chair and pushed himself up with effort. Korr stepped back as he limped out of the cockpit, then followed him as he slowly made his way down the ladder to the cargo bay, executing more of a controlled fall onto his good leg than an actual descent. Once in the bay, he lowered the landing ramp, though that was really more of a formality – the gaping hole in the side of the ship afforded them plenty of visibility.

The starship was close enough now for Korr to see that it was as a privately-owned vessel, larger than the single-person starfighter that she had flown to Arvala-7, but definitely _not_ Imperial. She would have liked to have had her daggers, but they had been lost somewhere in the forest below – not that they’d be much good against a starfighter and its pilot, who would ostensibly be armed with blasters. She considered asking the Mandalorian for a gun, but he didn’t appear threatened by the newcomer and instead seemed content to wait at the top of the landing ramp and watch him approach.

The pilot executed a wobbly landing on the edge of the bluff, several hundred meters away from where the Razor Crest sat. After a moment, he killed the engines, the cockpit canopy swung open, and a humanoid figure emerged from the cabin.

Neither Korr nor the Mandalorian spoke as the man slowly approached them and stopped at the bottom of the landing ramp. He was a broad-shouldered, imposing figure with dark skin and a thick mustache, and he wore a rich leather jerkin with long gloves that extended halfway up his forearms.

He tipped his head at Korr and she recognized him with a jolt.

“Mando,” Greef Karga said in a booming voice. “It’s been a while.”

The Mandalorian stood at the top of the landing ramp, leaning against the doorway of the ship with his gloved hands resting on his belt. It was obvious that he was trying to hide the extent of his injuries, and he made no effort to adjust his position or greet the man as he approached.

“What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you. May I come aboard?”

“The last time you were on my ship, you were trying to kill me.”

“No, I was trying to _stop_ you. You’re the one who shot me, remember?”

The Mandalorian didn’t reply.

The Guild leader turned to Korr and said, “Since you don’t appear to be under duress, is it safe to assume that you have come to have some new conclusions since we last met?”

“Yes.” She felt the Mandalorian’s gaze on her and told him, “I know this man. I went to Nevarro looking for him – I thought he might be able to tell me where you were.”

At that, he turned back to Karga, who held up a hand in a peacemaking gesture.

“I wouldn’t have helped her,” he said, “even if I knew where you were. Not out of any great love or loyalty for you, but because I didn’t see what good would come of it and I’m not in the business of ruining lives for no reason. In the end it didn’t matter, because Gideon got to her.”

He glanced at the hole in the side of the Mandalorian’s ship and added, “It appears that he got to you, too. I have to say that I’m surprised to find you still in one piece.”

They weren’t, Korr thought. Not quite.

“How did he know where to find the child?” the Mandalorian asked, and it sounded less like a question and more like an accusation.

Karga hesitated. “One of my hunters picked up the signal as he passed by Rishi.”

“And you gave that information to Gideon.”

Another pause. “Yes.”

The Mandalorian put a hand on his blaster and the Guild leader said, “He would have found out one way or the other. Better for him to think that I was still on his side.”

_Still on his side?_

Karga asked, “Did he get what he came for?”

There was no response from either Korr or the Mandalorian, and he continued, “Then I’m here to help you get the child back.”

“Why?”

“Let’s just say that I’ve learned enough about Moff Gideon’s motives over the last few months to know that – as much as I hate the idea of the Guild failing to recover a stolen bounty – he cannot be allowed to obtain what he seeks. Whatever the significance of the child, Gideon seems to believe that he holds the key to restoring the Empire to power. That doesn’t bode well for the future of the Republic.”

“Or your pockets,” the Mandalorian said. “If the galaxy goes to war again, it won’t be good for business.”

“Be that as it may, I believe now that the child is best suited to your care.”

“Then why help the Imps in the first place?” the Mandalorian asked, shifting his weight slightly. Korr knew that it had to hurt, standing like that for so long with all of his weight on his good leg. “You could have stopped him from the comfort of the cantina with nothing more than a well-placed blaster bolt.”

“We’re not all as good as you, Mando,” Karga replied. “I wouldn’t have stood a chance, not with all of his troopers nearby.” He paused. “Besides, I have a reputation to consider. I cannot be seen acting either for or against a political entity. The Guild must remain impartial – it’s the only way that it has survived for so long.”

Korr felt a wave of irritation rise within her. “So you want us to do your dirty work for you?”

He shrugged. “You can look at the situation from whatever angle suits you best, but the fact remains that we want the same thing.”

“For very different reasons,” she replied. “We want to save the child and prevent another war. You just want to hold on to your power.”

“Perhaps,” the Guild leader said equably, and nodded at the Mandalorian. “But I don’t think my motives matter much to him. Not as long as I’m willing and able to help him get the kid back.”

Korr thought she heard the Mandalorian sigh. He asked quietly, “Why should I trust you?”

She found herself wondering who he was asking.

“What choice do you have? I have a ship and a plan, which is more than I can say for you.” Karga’s expression softened slightly. “You and I have not always seen eye to eye in the past, but you know that I was forced to flee from the Empire long before the war. I’ve been branded a traitor in their eyes, for a crime that is punishable by death. There is no possible upside for me if they manage to retake control of the galaxy.”

There was a long pause. Finally, “Even if I believed you – I don’t know where he is.”

“I do,” Karga said, and Korr’s pulse quickened. “The last time I met with the Moff, I made sure it was on his ship. The man didn’t have the courtesy to meet with me in his cabin, but I left a homing fob in a dusty corner of his cargo bay.”

“And you have a signal?” the Mandalorian asked, and she heard the sudden hope in his voice.

Karga smiled. “I’m the leader of the Bounty Hunters Guild, Mando. Give me a little credit.”


	23. Only Distrust

Din was used to being around people he didn’t trust. He had taken on jobs in the past that had required his cooperation with underworld factions, common criminals, and Imps. Recently he had even reunited with a particularly untrustworthy gang of ex-partners on what had promised to be a straightforward job with a big payoff. It hadn’t quite turned out that way, but he’d made it off the New Republic prison ship alive and well-paid.

As long as he assumed that everyone was lying and kept his blasters charged, things usually worked out well enough.

But while the situation that he now found himself in wasn’t entirely foreign, there were a few key differences that were keeping him on off-balance.

For one, he had a long history with Greef Karga. During his time with the Guild, Din had been one of its most successful hunters, and in return the Guild leader had usually reserved the most lucrative and rewarding targets for him. Karga was a pragmatic, straightforward individual who made no effort to conceal his blatant self-interest, who pretended to be nothing more than who he was, and Din had respected his honesty in that regard. They had been, if not friends, men who worked well with one another.

When Din had rescued the child from the Imps, he had known that doing so would bring the wrath of the Guild down on him. He knew that since Nevarro, Greef Karga had been assisting Gideon in his pursuit of the child. He even understood why, to some degree. The reputation of the Guild depended on its abilities to fulfill its obligations. Business would suffer if prospective clients thought that the organization was powerless to prevent its own hunters from going rogue and running off with bounties.

As a result of their opposing views, the last time Din and Karga had met, they had been trying to kill each other. Now, Din was a passenger on the man’s ship, expected to believe that the Guild leader wanted to save the foundling that he had once been willing to kill over.

But turning down Greef Karga’s offer to help hadn’t been an option. Din knew that without a ship, without knowing where to look for the child, his chances were better with the man than without him. So he had taken what he needed from the Razor Crest – weapons, a few remaining medical supplies, and, with a sharp pang of regret, the little silver knob that the kid liked to play with – and boarded Karga’s ship with a silent promise to return to Rishi for his damaged vessel when this was all over.

Assuming, of course, that he lived through it.

They had taken Korr with them. Karga had not wanted to leave her on Rishi, and Din didn’t see the point in arguing. It made sense for her to remain with them. She had heard the broad outline of their plans, and Din didn’t want to risk leaving her to her own devices – which may or may not include calling Gideon to warn him of their intentions.

“It looks like he’s headed back to the Outer Rim,” Karga said now, and Din turned his attention to the illuminated screen in front of him. They were in the cockpit of the Guild leader’s ship, huddled over the controls as they analyzed the data from the tracking fob that Karga had hidden on the Moff’s ship. “But where? He wouldn’t be going back to Nevarro.”

“No,” Din said. He studied the map and a sudden realization hit him. “He’s charting a course for Arvala-7.”

“Why does that name sound familiar?”

“That’s where I found the child. He was being kept on a military base there, in the desert.”

Karga frowned. “What purpose would Gideon have to go there – or even to dock on a planet at all? He has the child and the doctor. There must be a lab on his ship.”

The Guild leader was right – a Star Destroyer would have provided much greater security than the nearly abandoned facility that Din had infiltrated within minutes. He recalled the conversation he had overheard between the Client and the doctor the night that he had returned to the remnant’s hideout in order to rescue the child.

“You must work quickly,” the Client had said. “I am no longer able to guarantee your safety here.”

“When I went back for the kid on Nevarro,” Din said, “he was still in the remnant’s hideout. They had a lab there. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but it was odd that they didn’t take him to Gideon’s ship immediately. Maybe they need some sort of specialized environment or equipment. Something that can’t be achieved in space.”

Karga nodded. “And they can’t return to the facility on Nevarro since you destroyed it. This compound on Arvala-7 – it has a lab? A medical facility?”

“I didn’t exactly take a tour when I was there, but it was large enough.”

“Well, it’s as good a theory as any. Do you have a plan?”

Din shifted his weight and a sharp pain shot up his injured leg, so excruciating that he staggered and nearly fell forward onto the console.

The episode earned him a sideways glance from Karga. “Anything you can do about that?”

He took a moment to catch his breath, then said through gritted teeth, “Not unless you have any bacta on board.”

“No. You said he stabbed you with a lightsaber?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve had my fair share of battle wounds but I can’t say that I know what that’s like.”

“It doesn’t feel good.”

“You don’t see a lot of people fighting with lightsabers out there. What’s an Imperial Moff doing with a Jedi weapon?”

The Darksaber was actually a Mandalorian weapon – it had been constructed by Tarre Vizsla, the first Mandalorian ever inducted into the Jedi ranks, and had changed hands too many times to count – but Din didn’t feel like educating Greef Karga on its long and turbulent history.

Instead, he said, “We need to sneak in, get the kid, and kill the Moff.”

“Just like that?” Karga asked. “It will be a challenge, to say the least – even if you _weren’t_ injured, Mando. We’re going to need a lot more firepower.”

“I’m open to ideas.”

“I’m supplying the method and the means. Strategy – that’s your job.”

Din thought of Cara. “There is someone who will help us, but it’ll take her some time to get here.”

“Someone?” Karga repeated doubtfully. “I was thinking more along the lines of a small infantry.”

“She’s a strong fighter. She’ll be an asset.”

“You do realize that you’re taking a run at an Imperial remnant, right? This isn’t some disorganized gang of mercs or bandits. This is a squad of stormtroopers being led by a Moff. An angry, very determined Moff.”

“I’m aware,” Din replied evenly. “But we don’t have time to find an army.”

“What about the girl? Can she hold her own in a fight?”

He hesitated. “She’s good with knives, but we’ll be facing troopers with guns.”

 _And_ there was a strong possibility that she still wanted to kill him. He didn’t need to be fighting with an enemy behind him as well as in front.

“Her brother preferred knives as well.”

He looked at the Guild leader.

Karga said quietly, “I’d be curious to know what she’s told you, Mando.”

“I know what I did that night,” Din said flatly. “And that she came looking for me, seeking revenge.”

“She told you the truth, then.”

“No. Gideon did. When he ambushed me on Rishi. I doubt she would have told me otherwise.”

“I see.” And then, “The Moff took advantage of her grief and twisted it for his own purposes.”

Bitterness rose in Din’s throat. “She knew what she was doing.”

“When we met on Nevarro, she didn’t strike me as someone born to anger and violence like most of the grifters who wander aimlessly around the Outer Rim. She looked like a young woman who was sad and desperate enough to do something stupid.”

“I didn’t know that you were such a good judge of character.”

Karga ignored his sarcasm. “It’s a prerequisite for one in my position.”

Din studied the screen again, but he wasn’t seeing anything. Something had been bothering him since the Guild leader’s arrival. He asked, “Why didn’t you help her when she came to see you? You had plenty of reason to want me dead.”

“I told you – because I didn’t think she stood a chance against a Mandalorian bounty hunter. And I had no interest in helping her destroy her life.” He added, “Her brother was a good man.”

Din didn’t reply. He turned back to the screen again and the two men sat in silence for several minutes.

Eventually he became aware of a presence behind him and turned to see Korr standing in the doorway of the cockpit.

She glanced at Karga, then looked back at him. “Can I talk to you?”

Without looking up, the Guild leader said, “There’s a spare cabin down the corridor that you can use.”

Din stood stiffly and followed her out of the cockpit. The proffered room was small and cramped, with barely enough room for the single bunk that it held, and immediately he felt claustrophobic.

She glanced at his leg and said tentatively, “You could sit….”

He remained standing. Korr seemed to sense his discomfort because she went to the opposite side of the room and stood there uncertainly, her back against the wall, as if to put as much distance between them as possible.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other. Din suddenly recalled the way she had looked at the beach that day – how her face, normally all angles and tension, had been soft and relaxed as she had gazed out at the water in utter, almost childlike fascination. He remembered that her head had been tilted to the side, revealing a small mole just below her right ear. He remembered the gentle arch of her back as she propped herself up on her elbows, remembered the way her bare legs, long and slender, had stretched out in front of her on the sand. He remembered how he had stood there awkwardly for a moment, thankful for the helmet as desire had swelled within him.

It had felt, in that moment, as if he was truly seeing her for the first time.

Now she stood across from him with the closed face of a stranger, her arms crossed tightly in front of her chest, and he knew that he had never really known her at all.

She asked him quietly, “Can you really trust him?”

“There’s no one on this ship that I can trust,” Din replied.

A faint blush rose in her cheeks and she nodded once as if to acknowledge the fairness of that statement. “My brother spoke of him once. He said that Greef Karga was as likely to give you a contract as he was to accept a contract _on_ you, if a client was willing to offer the right reward.”

“Your brother knew him well.”

“Not really. He only met him a few times. He wasn’t…he didn’t have enough time to make a name for himself.”

He didn’t take the bait.

Korr said, “Defeating Gideon is going to be an impossible task for just the three of us – especially if we can’t trust each other. We need help. I think…I think that we should ask the Jedi for help.”

He didn’t reply and she continued, “I know that you don’t trust them, either, but they’re just as motivated as we are to keep the child out of Gideon’s hands. If we could send word to Arvel somehow – if we told them what’s happened, I think they would come.”

As much as he hated to admit it, she was right. They needed reinforcements, and they didn’t have a lot of options. He wasn’t going to be at his best in battle, even if he did manage to get his hands on some bacta. He would call Cara, but as fierce a warrior as she was, she wouldn’t be enough to tip the scales in their favor. The Covert wasn’t an option, either. Even if he knew where they were, their numbers had dwindled to an almost untenable amount. Din couldn’t ask more of them, couldn’t risk the survival of his people yet again.

But could he ask for help from the _Jedi_? The ones responsible for the death of his parents and the destruction of his village? The ones who had waged a bloody war on his people?

Willingly entering into an alliance with them would go against every belief and principle that he had ever held.

But even as he considered the question, he knew the answer. The simple truth was that nothing mattered more than rescuing the kid. Every moment that he remained in the hands of the Imps was like a dagger being twisted in Din’s chest. He was prepared to give his life to save him. If the Jedi were willing to help, putting aside his pride and distrust, at least for the short-term, seemed an easy choice.


	24. Reconciliation

It was dusk when they landed on Arvala-7. Din directed Greef Karga to the craggy rock formations that he had used weeks earlier to conceal the Razor Crest from the eyes of scavenging Jawas. They had landed to the west of the military base – Din knew that approaching via the east would be difficult, if not impossible, due to the rugged and active lava fields that lay in that direction. He had managed to cross that terrain once, but only because Kuiil had saddled him with a blurrg. Now, he had neither the time to find such a creature, nor – with his injuries – the ability to ride one.

Karga engaged the stealth mode on his ship as they entered the atmosphere, but Din remained on high alert, scanning the horizon for any hint of a threat as they dropped down into the desert and executed a wobbly landing on a broad dune. Hours earlier, the tracking fob had confirmed that Gideon’s Star Destroyer had landed near the military compound. They were close.

Upon landing, Din briefly considered a visit to Kuiil and his vapor farm but quickly decided against it. The prospect of being in the company of someone he trusted was enticing, especially after the events of the last few days, but he also knew that until the Moff was dead, anyone who meant anything to him would be in danger.

He wouldn’t put that on Kuiil.

And…if he was being completely honest with himself – he didn’t relish the thought of having to explain to the Ugnaught that he had lost the child. He had ignored his advice to surrender him to the Jedi, and the repercussions of that decision had been dire.

Alone in his cabin, Din gingerly finished redressing his wound with new bandages. Korr had cleaned it well enough and the danger of infection seemed to have passed, but he still felt like he was going to short-circuit from the pain every time he tried to weight his leg. His entire body felt like one giant bruise, and his cracked ribs made breathing an exercise in agony.

When he had spoken to Cara hours earlier, she had promised to find the supplies that he’d requested. Without them, he knew, he would be about as useful as bantha fodder in the coming battle.

Din sat on the edge of the cot and pulled a small silver ball out of his pocket, rolling it back and forth in his fingers. It had spent most of its life as the knob of a ship lever but had quickly become his tiny co-captain’s favorite toy. Now, it served only as a brutal reminder of the loss of Din’s ship, and his failure to protect the kid.

What might the Imps have done to him by now? He closed a clenched fist around the ball, felt the anxiety and the rage and the helplessness rise up within him like a turbulent sea.

He knew that those kinds of thoughts were futile. Not productive. The kid was alive, and Din was going to get him back. He would tear the Star Destroyer apart bolt by bolt, panel by panel, to do so, and he would mow down Moff Gideon and a thousand stormtroopers if they got in his way.

Din finished replacing his armor and left the cabin. He found Greef Karga standing in the galley of the ship, making a pot of caf.

“Want some?” Karga asked when he noticed him in the doorway. “It’s a long journey from the Core, so we have some time until your friends arrive.” He paused, considering Din’s helmet. “I might have a straw around here somewhere.”

“Where’s Korr?”

“I believe she went to check on her ship.“

Alarm made Din’s blood run cold. “Alone?”

“I wasn’t aware that she needed an escort.”

Karga’s stupidity astounded him, and it was a struggle to keep his voice even as he asked tightly, “How long ago did she leave?”

“Shortly after we landed. Maybe an hour – “

Din left the man in midsentence and hurried, as quickly as his injured leg would allow, to the ship’s lower deck. His mind was racing. If Korr had gone to warn Gideon, he was far too late to stop her – even without her significant head start, he was moving about as quickly as a three-legged blurrg.

Once in the cargo bay, he slammed his fist against the control to lower the landing ramp and checked the charges on his blasters, silently cursing Karga as he waited for the ramp to drop. His arrogance had made him feel safe and now it was going to cost them –

He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the gloominess, realizing that the pile of rusty metal that he’d been mindlessly glaring at was actually a speeder bike shoved into a dusty corner of the cargo bay.

Moments later, he was zooming off into the desert. He rode as fast as he dared, slowing only occasionally to ensure that he hadn’t lost the boot tracks in the sand. A fierce, warm wind whipped around him and sand pinged off of his helmet, stinging the unarmored parts of his body as he sped across the dunes.

He remembered the last time he had followed Korr’s tracks, back in the forest on Rishi.

Then, he had been terrified for her safety.

Now, he thought it quite likely that he’d kill her when he found her.

It felt like an eternity before Din spotted the starfighter in the distance. He slowed as he drew closer, noting that the tracks continued around to the other side of the ship. It appeared that Korr had indeed returned, but that alone meant nothing – she could have called Gideon from the ship itself, assuming that the comms system was still operational.

Din dismounted from the bike and drew his blaster as he followed the tracks around the ship, wincing at each step. It looked the same as it had the last time he’d seen it – there was relatively little sign of exterior damage but he knew from his previous visit that the interior was a different story. The Jawas had gutted it, stripping it down to its frame.

He found her sitting in the sand outside of the ship, her back pressed against the landing gear. She looked up when he appeared, unsurprised – she would have heard the sound of the speeder bike, would have known that someone was coming. Her gaze shifted to the blaster in his hand, but she said nothing.

Korr had clearly been crying. Her eyes were puffy and rimmed with red and her arms rested atop her knees, as if she lacked the strength to support them otherwise. She was holding a small, blunted knife and there was a pile of what looked like clothing on the ground beside her.

She asked quietly, “Are you here to kill me?”

He didn’t reply.

After a moment, she returned her attention to the knife in her hand. “Then what are you doing here?”

“Making sure you weren’t doing anything stupid.”

Korr ran her fingertips along the dulled edge of the blade. “Well, you’re about six months too late.”

She was quiet for a long time, so it startled him when she suddenly said, “Din Djarin. Is that your name?”

It took him a moment to remember that Moff Gideon had called him by name on the beach. He nodded curtly. “Yes.”

“Why did the Imp know it?”

“My name was given to me by my parents. It would have been noted in the records of my village. Gideon was an ISB officer for the Empire during the Clone Wars, so he would have had access to those records.”

“Does it bother you, to hear him say it?”

“It’s just a name,” Din replied. “It’s not who I am anymore.”

Korr shook her head. “I wish it was that easy.”

He didn’t know what to say to that.

“This was my brother’s,” she said, still staring at the knife. “It was his first practice blade. My father made it for him once he was old enough to start training. I begged him to make me one too, but he said that weapons weren’t for girls.”

The Mandalorians had taught Din knife skills using real blades. The first time he’d practiced sparring with one, he’d nearly slit his own arm from wrist to elbow with a hasty, miscalculated thrust.

“Owen taught me what our father taught him, and he let me use his knife when he could. We used to sneak out of the house at night and practice throwing it at the rats that lived in the alley nearby.”

Korr was crying again. Her tears cut tracks down dust-covered cheeks and her knuckles were white as she squeezed the hilt of the knife.

“I always knew that killing you wouldn’t make things right…but I thought that it might make me feel a little bit better. I thought that it might dull the pain. Make sense of Owen’s senseless, stupid death…or at least bring some kind of purpose to _my_ senseless, stupid life.”

She looked, for the first time since Din had known her, completely defeated. “But all that I’ve done is cause so much needless pain and chaos. I don’t know what to do to make things right anymore.”

Din recalled the emptiness that he had felt after the death of his parents. The loss had created a deep void within him, one that he had lost himself in for years. It had taken the guidance and acceptance of the Mandalorians to find a new identity, a new purpose.

It occurred to him that the two of them were not so different. The trajectory of their lives had been dramatically, irreversibly altered by tragedy. The loss of his parents had sent Din down a path of violence and self-reliance, one that had been intensified by an abiding anger that had stayed with him for much of his life. Korr had lost her brother, and she had let her grief take her into the same darkness.

Before he had learned the truth about her, he had never quite understood why she seemed so intent on making his mission her mission.

But revenge, hate, and loss. Those were things he knew well.

He almost understood her _better_ now.

Now, he felt the unexpected urge to comfort her. He wasn’t a man of many words but suddenly it felt important – and impossible – to find the right ones.

Finally, he said, “I know what it feels like – the grief and emptiness. I know that anger feels better than the helplessness.”

Korr stared at him. Most people usually looked too high or too low, focusing somewhere on his forehead or around his nose, but she was looking right into his eyes, as if she could see through his helmet. It was both impressive and unsettling.

He said, “I’m sorry for my part in causing it.”

She shook her head. “You were doing the right thing that night. The child – he has to be protected. At any cost. I just…I just wish to all the gods that Owen hadn’t been there.”

Din felt a heavy sense of guilt, then – not only for killing her brother, because that had been in defense of the child and as unfortunate as it was, it had been necessary; but because he still didn’t _remember_ him, and it seemed that at the very least he could have done him that service.

He said, “Your brother was trying to do the right thing, too.”

Korr hesitated. “What about me?”

He stared at her.

“Is it too late to try and make this right?”

He could help her, he realized suddenly. He could help her by forgiving her, as she had forgiven him.

In doing so, perhaps he could forgive himself.

“It’s not too late,” he replied, and in her eyes, he saw a flicker of something – a quiet, tentative hope. He saw in her what he felt in himself, and he had the irrational urge to reach out and touch her, to take off his glove and see how her skin felt against his palm.

He realized that for the first time in a long time, he wanted to trust.


	25. New Arrivals

The following evening, a solitary starship arrived on Arvala-7.

“That’s it?” Greef Karga asked as they watched the vessel land on a sandy dune, not far from where his own was parked. They were sitting around a large fire as a fully-grown wraid, killed by the Guild leader earlier that day, roasted on a spit. “Those are your reinforcements?”

Din didn’t reply. Beside him, Korr stood quietly with her arms crossed and a slight frown on her face.

He watched as two figures disembarked from the ship – Arvel, the Jedi from Coruscant, and an older, unfamiliar man with a shock of white hair. When Din saw Cara step out onto the landing ramp behind them, he felt an involuntary grin spread across his face and he was thankful for the helmet. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed her.

“So, this is a new kind of skug hole,” she said as she approached the group, looking around at the barren desert surroundings. She greeted Din with a smile and a hearty slap on the back that sent a jolt of pain up his spine. He flinched involuntarily and she frowned, clearly noting his reaction.

He nodded. “Less cantinas and Guild presence, more Imps and other things that want to kill you.”

“You had me at Imps, Mando.” Cara glanced at Greef Karga, then at Korr. “Though if someone had told me a year ago that I’d be hitching a ride halfway across the galaxy with two Jedi to meet a Mandalorian and the leader of the Bounty Hunters’ Guild on some lame excuse of a planet, all to save a little green kid from some Imps, I would have told you to lay off the spotchka.”

“I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Yeah. Well, you know me. I love a good fight. And I’d do anything for that little frog-muncher.” She turned to Korr. “Who’s your friend?”

Korr looked at him warily, awaiting his explanation. He hesitated.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Cara, or that he didn’t want her to know the truth. She would, eventually. But he knew how protective she was, had seen the way she reacted toward anything that she deemed a threat – either to herself or someone important to her. That loyalty had saved his life before – more times than he cared to remember, in fact – but he didn’t need to worry about it backfiring here, the night before they went into battle.

In the awkward silence, Korr said, “We met here, on Arvala-7, a few weeks ago. We’ve been traveling together since.”

Cara looked at her curiously. “Really. Mando’s usually pretty picky about his partners.”

To Din’s relief, the two Jedi joined the group just then, temporarily putting an end to that line of questioning.

Arvel had shed the thick, hooded cloak that he had worn at the Temple on Coruscant in favor of a simple brown robe with a utility belt cinched around the waist. He carried two lightsabers on his belt, but Din studied him skeptically, questioning whether the man could really wield them with any effectiveness. He looked more like a farmer than a fighter.

Now, he nodded at Din and said, “When we last parted, I did not expect that we would meet again so soon.”

“Neither did I. But thank you for coming.”

“Your friend was quite persuasive. And mysterious. All she would tell us was that the foundling was in danger. And that you were requesting reinforcements.”

“I told you everything that I know,” Cara muttered, with a pointed look in Din’s direction.

Din looked at the Jedi. “It’s just the two of you?”

The older man said, “You’ll understand our wanting to understand the situation fully before committing more significant resources to it.”

He did understand, but he felt frustration rankling his nerves. He looked at Cara. “It’s as I said earlier. Gideon found us on Rishi a few days ago. He ambushed us and took the kid.” Guilt and shame had a stranglehold on his throat, making it hard to speak. “We’ve tracked him to the old military installation here, and now we need your help to get him back.”

Cara stared at him. “Gideon ambushed you?”

“Yes.”

“And left you alive?”

“Barely.”

She frowned. “Not that I’m not relieved, but why? It’s not like him to leave loose ends lying around.”

_Because he thought someone else would finish the job for him._

Din said, more sharply than he’d intended, “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he has the kid and we’re running out of time.”

It had been three days since Moff Gideon had taken the foundling, and Din had been tormented by thoughts of the child ever since. He knew firsthand what the Moff was capable of, had become intimately familiar with the man’s sadistic streak during his time spent as his prisoner, and the thought of the child in his hands was like a white-hot dagger twisting in his gut.  
He was impatient, and he was desperate, and now he was angry. If the two Jedi before him were all that were coming, he’d wasted precious time waiting for something that wouldn’t make a difference.

“Come,” Greef Karga said, no doubt sensing the growing tension in the air. He made a magnanimous gesture toward the nearby fire as if he was welcoming guests into his home. “We have a lot to discuss and I, for one, would like to be sitting down for it.”

They found seats around the fire. Dusk had settled over the desert and the flames cast long shadows across the sand.

Arvel introduced the older man with an air of deference. “This is Master Sio. He is one of twelve Jedi masters who currently sit on the High Council on Coruscant.”

Din studied the man. He was a broad-shouldered individual with close-shaven white hair, weathered skin, and pale blue eyes. He wore a dark tunic and an outer robe with a deep hood and wide sleeves, and like his companion, he had two metal lightsaber hilts hanging from his belt. Unlike his companion, however, he carried himself like he knew how to fight.

“Thank you for coming,” Korr said to him. “I’m sure the responsibilities of the Council demand a great deal of your time.”

The man inclined his head and spoke for the first time. “If what Arvel tells me is true, there is nothing more important than being here right now.”

Cara sat beside Din and he took the opportunity to study her. She looked the same as always – unflappable, exuding strength, brimming with a confidence that came from knowing exactly who she was and that she could take on anyone who dared to challenge her.

Din had to wonder how much of a difference she might have made on Rishi.

Now she spoke to him lightly, but the intensity of her gaze conveyed her concern. “To be honest, Mando, I wasn’t sure whether I’d find you in one piece or not based on the supplies you were asking for.”

“I’ve survived worse.”

She gave him a look. “I know. I was there, remember?” And then, with a pointed nod at his leg, “What happened there?”

“Gideon. And a lightsaber,” he replied, and she looked at him in dismay. “If you were able to find some bacta, it will help.”

Cara reached into her pocket and pulled out a small vial in response, and he took it with a surge of gratitude. “It was all I could get on such short notice. The stuff is hard to come by.”

“This is more than enough.”

Master Sio said to him, “The child. I understand that you are the one who recovered him here months ago?”

“Yes.”

“May I ask how?”

“I was given a tracking fob. And the last four digits of the chain code.”

“It must have been quite difficult to find him with so little information.”

Din shook his head. “It took less than a week.”

He would have found him sooner had he not been waylaid by a couple of blurrg upon his arrival on Arvala-7. Thinking back on that day now, he could only marvel at how utterly unprepared he was – both physically and emotionally – for the events that he was about to set into motion.

“Remarkable,” the Jedi said. “You must be a skilled hunter to have found him so quickly, and with such little information. We have not had such success, and we have been searching for much longer.”

Din looked at him in surprise. “You’ve been searching for the child?”

“Yes. For quite some time.” Master Sio glanced at Arvel. “For years, the more sensitive among us have seen visions of a coming darkness, a force that will threaten the very survival of the galaxy. The true manifestation of this evil is unclear, and we do not yet understand the forces behind it, but one element of these visions that has remained fairly consistent is the presence of a child.”

A chill ran down Din’s spine. He repeated, “A child.”

“Yes. A child of the same species as one of the most powerful Jedi the galaxy has ever known.”

“Master Yoda,” Korr said quietly, looking at shocked as Din felt. Master Sio nodded.

“But Master Yoda is gone, and the Jedi Order is not what it once was. We fear that we will not be enough to defeat this darkness, should it be allowed to reach its full potential. It is crucial that we find this child and prevent him from falling into the wrong hands. Even as we speak, there are members of our Order who have been combing the far reaches of the galaxy for years in search of him.”

Something clicked in Din’s mind and he turned to Cara. “When we spoke a few days ago, you told me of a Resistance fighter….”

She nodded. “Yeah. Luke Skywalker.”

“What do you know of Skywalker?” Master Sio asked, clearly surprised.

“I was a rebel shock trooper in a former life,” Cara replied. “His name came up a lot in those circles.”

The Jedi Master nodded thoughtfully, his eyes focused on the flames in front of him. “I see. It’s funny that you mention him because I intend to speak to him shortly. Skywalker is also a Jedi, you see. He was trained by Master Yoda himself and he, too, has had visions of the child. He knows that he may hold the key to restoring our Order to its full strength.”

Din thought of the opulence of the Temple on Coruscant. “I think your Order is doing well enough.”

“This is not a campaign for power,” Master Sio said. “This is about survival. The coming darkness will test us all. We will need to call upon all of the resources at our disposal, and even then it may not be enough.”

Korr turned to Arvel. “You never told us any of this when we came to the Temple.”

“I didn’t know,” he replied. “I am a Knight, not privy to the inner workings and discussions of the Council. Master Sio only told me of this…concern…once I came to him and recounted our meeting.”

Something was bothering Din. He looked at the older man. “Do you believe the child is the source of this coming threat?”

“It is unclear. We do not know what role he is to play. What is clear is that he cannot be allowed to remain in the hands of those who would seek to use his powers with malicious intent.”

“And whose hands does he belong in, exactly?”

There was an edge to his voice now, and he saw Cara give him a sideways glance.

Master Sio studied him. “Arvel has told me a little of your distrust for the Jedi. I understand. The Jedi and the Mandalorians have a bloody history. It must have taken a lot for you to ask for our help.”

Din _had_ asked the Jedi for help, but that had been before he knew that they’d been searching for the child all along. If they truly believed that he was somehow connected to this future threat, had they come to rescue him…or to eliminate him?

Now, he asked tightly, “What are your intentions in coming here?”

To his credit, the older man understood both the question and the accusation that had been put before him. “I can reassure you that we are only here to offer our assistance. He is a child and we do not wish him harm.” He paused. “I understand that you mean to return him to his people.”

“Yes.”

“That will be a challenge. No one knows where his species originates from.” He gave Arvel a meaningful look before continuing. “It would, of course, be ideal if the child could return to Coruscant with us. That is the only way to ensure his safety.”

“You overestimate the security that your Temple can provide.”

“Perhaps. But we have many who would give their lives to protect him.”

“Mando nearly has, a hundred times over,” Korr said sharply, and Din looked at her but said nothing.

Master Sio turned and fixed her with a discerning gaze. “Yes. I have no doubt about that. The fact that the child is still alive speaks well of his abilities.” And then, after a moment, “Regardless of what you decide, for now it is enough to know that you will retrieve him from the hands of the Empire.”

Din had no choice but to take the man at his word. Their circumstances, as desperate as they were, would be far worse without the Jedi’s promised support. He realized that his hands were clenched into fists and consciously released them.  
Arvel stood up and approached Din. He said, “We have brought something for you.”

He unclipped one of the hilts from his belt and held it out. Din stared at it but made no move to take it.

After a moment, Karga said helpfully, “It’s a lightsaber.”

“I know what it is,” Din replied tersely. “I have no need for it.”

It was bad enough having to call upon the Jedi for help. Lightsabers had been wielded against Mandalorians for centuries with devastating consequences, and he wasn’t about to start using one now; especially not when he had a diverse range of his own weapons to choose from, weapons forged and used by his own people.

Arvel said, “I understand that this Moff fights with a lightsaber. You’ll need one as well if you hope to be on an equal footing with him.”

“Only an idiot would carry an untested weapon that he’s never trained with into battle.”

The Jedi seemed unoffended by this. “You’ve trained with longswords, have you not? The concept is similar. A man of your skill will not have an issue wielding this.”

“He has a point,” Cara said, to Din’s immense irritation. “When you were fighting Gideon back on Nevarro, you could barely get within striking distance. You won’t be able to defeat him in close combat while he’s swinging his lightsaber around. You need a long-range weapon.”

“My blaster has a longer range than his lightsaber.”

“Just take the damn thing. It won’t kill you to have it an extra weapon.”

“For what it’s worth, I agree with her,” Greef Karga said. “Gideon is no Jedi, but he knows how to use a lightsaber. Besides, those things can cut through stormtrooper armor like a knife through butter. Might be useful where you’re going.”

Arvel remained standing, his hand outstretched, and reluctantly Din took the weapon from him – if only to shut the others up.

“Whether or not I have a lightsaber will make no difference if it’s just the six of us against an Imperial remnant,” he said pointedly.

“I will contact the Council,” Master Sio said. “More will come.”

“How many?”

“Enough,” he replied vaguely, which did nothing to assuage Din’s misgivings.


	26. The Eve of Battle

Korr lay on her bunk on Greef Karga’s ship, staring up at the piped ceiling. Things had been moving quickly over the last few days, and she was still trying to process all of it.

Despite the arrival of reinforcements – or perhaps _because_ of it – she felt as if things were spiraling out of control. Ever since she had landed on Arvala-7 the first time and stepped into this new reality, it had just been the three of them – the Mandalorian, the child, and her. Now, it seemed, there was a steadily growing cast of characters, all with their own motivations. Greef Karga, wanting to preserve his power and influence with the Bounty Hunters Guild. The Jedi, determined to prevent some vague and unnamed threat from rising up in the darkness. And the Mandalorian’s friend – the infamous Cara. Her motivations, from what Korr could tell, centered solely around her loyalty to the Mandalorian and the child.

Which had the potential to make her the most dangerous one of them all.

Korr found herself fascinated by the ex-rebel shock trooper. Cara seemed larger than life somehow, with short black hair and piercing dark eyes, and she packed an amount of weaponry that almost – but not quite – rivaled that of the Mandalorian. She was constantly assessing her surroundings and she moved with an air of efficiency, as if she was determined that not a single calorie of energy was to be wasted on an unnecessary word or action.

She and the Mandalorian clearly had a strong connection. The night before, Korr had watched her from across the fire and seen the way that her eyes narrowed in concern as she noted her friend’s careful movements, how he had lowered his voice and leaned in close when he spoke to her.

But the most significant thing to happen since landing on Arvala-7 had nothing to do with Cara, or the Jedi, or Greef Karga. The most significant thing, the one that Korr couldn’t stop thinking about, was how she and the Mandalorian seemed to have found a way to have forgiven each other.

He had killed her brother. That would always need to be weighed in any equation. But he had also saved her life, at least twice – once on Sorgan, once on Coruscant, and quite possibly on Rishi as well. He had willingly risked everything in order to save a foundling to whom he owed nothing, and he had shown _her_ kindness and compassion at a time when she deserved neither.

Somehow, he had become a friend.

And yet, even the concept of his friendship seemed complicated. Not because she didn’t want it, but because…well, she wasn’t sure that it was _all_ she wanted. She had begun to feel an odd hyperawareness whenever he was near – she was overly conscious of the words she chose, the tone of her voice, the tone of _his_ voice, modulated as it was. If he was as distant as ever behind his helmet and his Beskar, she felt as if she was becoming increasingly exposed in his presence – sometimes her very thoughts seemed to be on display, and it felt now as if every second that they were together was charged with electricity. Sometimes she would look at him out of the corner of her eye and remember the tantalizing glimpse of skin that she had seen the night that she’d treated his injuries, and she would imagine what else lay beneath all of that heavy armor.

That was confusing, though, and she was doing her best not to dwell on those thoughts. They had bigger things to worry about right now – namely, how to rescue the child from an army of stormtroopers and a power-hungry Moff.

The night before, they had devised a strategy for attack; or, more accurately, the Mandalorian, Cara, and the Jedi had devised a strategy. Their plan relied heavily on two assumptions – that more help would come, and that the Mandalorian would be able to walk by the time they put it into action.

Even to Korr’s inexperienced, non-tactical eye, it seemed risky. The Jedi, while pledging their support, weren’t actually _here_ yet. None of them had ever been inside of the compound or had any insight into its layout. The Mandalorian, their strongest fighter, was far from top fighting shape.

There was a lot that could go wrong, but it had been two days since the child had been taken. They couldn’t wait any longer.

Late afternoon was rapidly giving way to dusk. They would leave for the military compound at nightfall.

Korr stood up. It was too late to sleep, and even if she’d had the time, she knew that her nerves would prevent her from finding any rest. She wandered out into the corridor with the intention of snagging a protein bar and a cup of caf from the galley but found herself lingering in the doorway when she heard low voices issuing from the room. It was the Mandalorian and his friend. Reluctant to interrupt their conversation, Korr turned to head back to her cabin when something Cara said made her stop.

“That was an incredibly stupid thing to do,” she said, and the anger in her voice was evident. “You could have been killed. From what I can see, you almost were.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“Why, because Gideon was threatening to hurt someone who was trying to kill you?”

He had told her the truth, then. Korr felt her heart sink. Not that she didn’t deserve the woman’s scorn and judgment – but it would complicate things, it was one more battle to fight, and she had welcomed the temporary reprieve. Cara didn’t seem like the type of person she was eager to go up against.

“I didn’t know that at the time.”

“Oh, okay – so the fact that you were willing to sacrifice yourself for a stranger is supposed to make me feel better? Since when do you put the welfare of someone else before the kid’s? Or your own?”

Korr heard metal against metal, the sound of a blade being sharpened against honing steel.

The Mandalorian sounded irritated when he said, “Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.”

Cara snorted. “Yeah, right. More like you finally have to admit that you’re human just like the rest of us.”

“What does that mean?”

“You fell for a sob story and a pretty face, Mando.”

This time there was no response. Korr wondered, as she had the night before as they sat around the campfire, if Cara knew the Mandalorian’s real name. She called him _Mando_ , but that could be for the same reason that Korr had decided to continue doing so – out of a respect for his privacy, because it was clear that his birth name wasn’t information that he offered up to the general public.

Cara was still pressing him. “You know the truth now. Why haven’t you gotten rid of her yet?”

Korr definitely wanted to hear his response to that question.

It was a long time before the Mandalorian spoke again. “I killed her brother.”

“So you said,” Cara replied, but her voice was a little softer now. “On Nevarro.”

“Yes. The night I went back for the kid.”

“There were a lot of people shooting at each other that night, especially after the Covert entered the fray, right? It could have been another Mandalorian that killed him. Hell, it could have been friendly fire. Happens all the time.”

“That’s not the point.”

“No…I know. And I’m not denying that what happened to her brother is a terrible thing.” She paused. “But you can’t blame yourself.”

No answer.

“Do you? Blame yourself?”

“There wouldn’t have been a fight if I hadn’t done what I did,” the Mandalorian said evenly. “So yeah – I’m responsible for what happened.”

Cara sighed. “Even if that’s true, it doesn’t mean that you owe her anything. And it doesn’t mean that you should forgive her for _everything_.”

They were both quiet, and for a while the only sounds that came from the galley was the clinking of weaponry, of weapons being cleaned. Korr sank back against the wall.

“She reminds me a little of you,” the Mandalorian said unexpectedly.

A disgusted noise. “How flattering.”

“When the Empire attacked Alderaan, you wanted nothing more than to get revenge on the ones responsible for its destruction. You devoted your entire life to it.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t go off and join forces with an evil egomaniac hellbent on destroying the galaxy.”

“No. You joined the Rebellion and spent the next eight years dropping into hot zones and killing Imps.”

“That’s different,” Cara said tersely.

“She regrets what she did. She wants to help the kid.”

“I don’t know if I can believe that.”

“You don’t have to,” the Mandalorian replied. “You just have to trust me.”

He was _defending_ her, Korr thought belatedly. And she was eavesdropping on him.

She turned to slink shamefully back to her room and nearly collided with Greef Karga, who was standing behind her with a bemused expression. Her face flushed with embarrassment but before she could make a pathetic attempt to explain herself, he gently took her arm and propelled her into the galley with him.

The conversation between the Mandalorian and Cara stopped abruptly at their appearance.

Korr knew that her face was redder than the skin of a Lethan Twi’lek and she wanted nothing more in that moment than to melt into the floor of the galley and disappear. The searing look of scorn that Cara fixed her with was so intense that she nearly did.

“So. Here we are, on the eve of battle,” Karga said genially, seemingly oblivious to the general discomfort in the room. He poured himself a cup of caf and turned to study the array of weapons set out in the galley. Cara had disassembled one of her pistols and was putting it back together. Two vibroblades lay on the table beside the newly acquired lightsaber, and the Mandalorian had his rifle in his lap and was cleaning the barrel.

Karga said, with an air of wistfulness, “There’s nothing like the eve of a fight, is there? The intensity, the anticipation, the camaraderie. Checking and rechecking weapons. Trading war stories. Even after all these years, I remember it well. I almost miss it.”

“Grab a rag, then,” Cara said.

He shook his head, unfazed. “Those days are behind me.”

She smirked.

“You’re not fighting?” Korr asked him.

“No. My part here is done. I can’t afford to be here when the fighting starts – that would arouse too much suspicion on both sides. I’ve likely stayed too long as it is.”

The Mandalorian looked at Karga. “Thank you for your help. We…wouldn’t have made it this far without it.”

“I couldn’t let my best hunter die on some backwater beach, could I?” the Guild leader asked, but Korr could tell that he was pleased by the Mandalorian’s words. “Come to Nevarro when this is all over, Mando. We’ll smooth things over properly.”

“No, thanks.”

“We make good partners. I know that we haven’t exactly seen eye to eye on recent events, but I hope that we can put all of that nastiness behind us.”

The Mandalorian didn’t look up from his rifle. “I think the Guild might take issue with that.”

“Let me worry about the Guild.”

He didn’t respond to that.

Cara stood up and said, “I’m going to find Arvel. It’ll be dark soon. If his buddies want to see any action tonight, they better be real close by.”

“I’ll come with you,” Karga said, setting his cup down on the counter. “He promised me an extra container of Tibanna gas. Hauling this group out of the Rishi Maze burned more fuel than I thought.”

They left, and then it was just Korr and the Mandalorian. She sat down at the table beside him and watched him.

“Have you slept?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“Why not?”

“I never sleep well on someone else’s ship.”

“It was nerves. For me, I mean,” she said, aware that she was answering a question that he hadn’t asked, that those same nerves were also causing her to babble like an idiot. “I’ve never done anything like this.”

“You’ve been in fights before.”

“It’s one thing to square off with a drunk Trandoshan. It’s not quite the same as going up against an army of stormtroopers.”

The Mandalorian studied the muzzle of his rifle. “Yes. That’s why you’re staying here.”

He said it so nonchalantly that it took Korr a moment to process what he’d said. “What?” And then, “No.”

He didn’t reply.

“It’s because of me that that we’re here,” she said, starting to feel desperate. “Let me do my part. I know I don’t have my blades anymore, but I can handle a gun.” And then, a sudden thought. “Are you worried that I’ll betray you?”

The Mandalorian finally set his rifle down and looked at her. She had learned to read the tilt of his head, the steady, measured silences, and she knew that he was assessing her, weighing the words that she was saying now against everything that he knew, everything that had come before.

She said quietly, “You don’t have to look over your shoulder. I won’t betray you. Not today. Not ever again.” She added, in case he needed to hear her say it and hoping he understood her meaning, “I’ll do anything to get the child back.”  
It was the truth. As all-consuming as her quest for revenge had been, she hadn’t thought about what the future might hold for her. Not for a long time.

Perhaps she hadn’t really believed that she would survive long enough to have to worry about it.

So to die in the service of something _good_ , while saving the life of an innocent child, seemed only fitting in light of the death and violence that she had sought for so long.

As if he had come to the same conclusion, the Mandalorian started rummaging through a leather satchel that sat on the bench beside him. He pulled out a small parcel and unfurled the wrapping to reveal a pair of gleaming daggers with long, curved blades.

 _Her_ daggers – the ones she had thought had been lost in the forest on Rishi.

Tears, hot and unexpected, sprung to her eyes. They had come to represent the last vestiges of the life she had known before, and the intensity of the emotion she felt at the sight of them surprised her.

“How…?”

“I found them while I was tracking you. Before.”

Clearly, he hadn’t made up his mind about whether to return them to her until now. She didn’t blame him. It was generally ill-advised to arm someone you thought might be trying to kill you.

Now, she took the hilts in her hands and felt an immediate comfort in their familiar grips, found herself admiring the skill of the metalworker who had crafted a pair of blades that were perfectly balanced and attuned to her and her alone.

Perhaps her father had understood her better than she realized.

The Mandalorian was holding a blaster out to her. She looked at him.

“If all goes according to plan, we’ll never be facing more than a couple of Imps at a time,” he said. “Your knives will be of use in close combat situations, as long as you can penetrate their armor. But if anything goes wrong, we’ll be up against an army of stormtroopers armed with blasters. If that happens, I won’t be able to…” Here, he hesitated, as if at a loss for words. Finally, he said, “If you come, you’ll be on your own.”

“I understand,” she replied, sliding her daggers into the holsters of her belt and taking the gun from him. She said, “I’m prepared for whatever happens next.”


	27. Into the Eye

As Cara followed Greef Karga back to his ship, she reflected on her life over the last several months.

The first time she had laid eyes on the Mandalorian, she’d known that she would have a hard time killing him, if it came to it. Mandalorians were reputed to be skilled warriors, and this one carried himself like one, even in the quiet, nonthreatening atmosphere of the lazy cantina on Sorgan. Even with a strange looking green child toddling after him looking utterly harmless and kind of adorable.

She had thought that her initial impression of him had been justified when he’d followed her out of the cantina, but within seconds of their brawl she’d realized that he wasn’t trying to kill her. They had fought to a half-hearted stalemate, traded a few war stories over some spotchka as the kid slurped his broth, and it had all been pleasant enough, but she’d had no desire to prolong their encounter. Her time with the Mandalorian might have ended there, if he hadn’t returned that night with a bag of credits to recruit her in defense of the nearby village.

The rest was history.

That had been less than a year ago, but the time that they’d spent together had been intense, and Cara felt as if she knew him as well as anyone could claim to know him. She knew, at least, that he trusted her – she had certainly bailed his ass out of trouble enough times to earn that.

And he cared for the foundling more than he would ever admit. More, maybe, than he even understood.

It all made his current situation that much more difficult to comprehend. She could not, for the life of her, understand why someone who navigated the world by keeping everyone at arm’s length would defend someone who had been a complete stranger only weeks ago, had actively worked to betray him, had nearly killed him, and had ultimately been at least partly responsible for the kid falling into the hands of the Imps.

Guilt was a powerful motivator, and she knew that he felt remorse over killing the girl’s brother, even if he wouldn’t come right out and say it. But Mando had killed a lot of people over the time he’d spent as a bounty hunter. She had seen him do so without losing a minute’s sleep over it.

Maybe he had developed feelings for this woman. Despite all of the mystery that surrounded his people, Cara knew that it was possible, for at least this Mandalorian – she had seen his careful interactions with Omera during their brief stint on Sorgan. Korr was pretty enough, and pickings were slim along the Outer Rim.

Ultimately, though, it didn’t matter what his motivations were. Cara had been unable to dissuade him from his plan, and now they were about to infiltrate an enemy-occupied base with two allies that were tenuous at best – the Jedi, with their promised but as of yet unseen contingent of forces, and Korr.

If Cara was smart, she’d hitch a ride with Greef Karga and get the hell away from the shitstorm that was about to break out.

But she wasn’t smart. She was loyal, and she cared too much about what happened to both the kid and Mando to walk away now.

None of that stopped her from being pissed off about the whole situation.

Now, she watched Greef Karga load two large canisters of Tibbana gas into the cargo bay of his ship and checked her blaster rifle and gas cartridges for the third time. There was a very real possibility that she would die on this gritty, godforsaken world tonight, but it wouldn’t be because she ran out of firepower.

Without turning around, Karga said, “I understand that you were a rebel shock trooper before you teamed up with the Mandalorian.” She didn’t respond and he continued, “Our mutual friend has a very high opinion of your abilities. He was perfectly content to take on the entire remnant with just you by his side.”

Cara shrugged. “I can hold my own.”

The Guild leader turned and leveled an appraising look at her. “You know, if you’re as good as he says you are, I could use someone with your skills.”

“I’m not exactly bounty hunter material.”

“I’m not talking about hunting. I’m talking about _enforcing_. You know, someone to help me keep Guild members and nonpaying clients in line.” He looked at her. “You’d get to bang heads together on a fairly regular basis, and the pay is decent.”

Well, that _did_ sound tempting. “No, thanks. I’m not much of a team player.”

Karga smiled. “Well. Come find me if you change your mind – and survive the night, of course.”

That raised a question that Cara had been mulling over in her mind for the last twenty-four hours, and she asked, “Tell me – why is the leader of the Bounty Hunter’s Guild sticking his neck out to help the guy who stole the most valuable asset in Guild history?”

“I have my reasons. As I suspect you do.”

She shrugged again. _Touché_. “He’s my friend.”

“He must be a very good friend if you’re willing to come all this way and join him in a fight against such overwhelming odds.”

“He is,” she muttered. “Though it seems that his standards for what qualifies as a friend have dropped significantly since the last time I saw him.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Cara didn’t respond. She had already shared more than she’d intended.

Karga glanced at her. “Has he told you the girl’s backstory?”

“Yes. It’s a sad story, not an excuse.”

“The Mandalorian seems willing to give her a second chance, and he’s suffered because of her more than anyone. Maybe that should mean something. Regardless, the two of you aren’t exactly in a position to turn down help.”

“Help?” she repeated. “Having a dependable ally would be help. Having a map of the compound would be help. This is going to be fighting with an enemy on either side.”

Greef Karga smiled. “I’d advise you to focus your attention on the Imps, not the girl.”

* * *

Din had been here once before. He had laid on his belly on this same, high, jagged outcropping of rocks and stared down at the scattered buildings below, trying to figure out how to get in, find his target, and get out without being shot in the process.

Then, it had been high noon and he had been trying to recover a bounty. Now, it was dark as oblivion and he was trying to save a child – one who had brought incredible meaning to his life, who sometimes seemed capable of rending his heart from his chest with a simple cry of pain. Din _still_ didn’t understand the depth of the emotions he felt for the child – he only knew that he had to save him, at any cost.

He pointed his Amban rifle at the base and narrowed his gaze behind its scope.

The small complex consisted of several squat, sand-colored buildings connected by a series of covered corridors. A larger structure with clamshell doors sat on the eastern end of the base; it had likely served as a hanger bay while the compound had been operational.

The Imps, like the mercenaries who had guarded the child the last time Din had been here, were making no effort to conceal their presence. Dozens of stormtroopers holding what Din recognized as standard-issue E-11D blaster carbines stood guard along the walls of the facility, with more patrolling the outer perimeter.

Beside Din, Cara lay on the ground with a pair of electrobinoculars held to her face. She muttered an obscenity and pulled them away from her face.

“Did he really need to bring his entire army with him?”

“There’s more inside,” Din replied, scanning the buildings with the infrared scope of his rifle. “A couple hundred, at least.”

Including, of course, the Moff himself.

Din felt a surge of adrenaline at the thought of facing Gideon again.

The bacta that Cara had brought from Corellia had helped to dull the pain of his injuries and would speed up the healing process, and the Jedi – if they ever showed up – would give them a fighting chance against Gideon’s army.

And yet, ever since Rishi he’d had the strange sense that he was living on borrowed time. _Stolen_ time. There at the beach, on his knees, bloody and beaten before the Moff and Korr, with all of that hatred and betrayal and pain reverberating in the space between them, Din had resigned himself to death, had felt it coming for him in a way that he hadn’t experienced since he was a child huddled in an underground shelter while a war raged on above him.

Both times, he had narrowly escaped with his life. He was not a superstitious man, but he couldn’t help but feel that he was cheating death, and that sooner or later it was going to catch up to him.

He knew that as long as the Moff breathed, the child would never be truly safe. Gideon had to die tonight, and Din would willingly follow him to the same fate to ensure it.

Cara recaptured his attention by saying, “This sort of looks like an old Republic base.”

He understood the significance of that statement. “Do they all follow the same blueprints?”

“I haven’t exactly spent a lot of time on Republic bases, but yeah – from what I’ve seen, they’re all laid out pretty much the same.”

“So the med center….”

“Should be right there,” she replied, pointing vaguely, “in that sector, if we’re lucky. Going in through the hanger bay will be the quickest way to get there.”

Din zeroed in on the northeast quadrant with his rifle. Judging by the stronger heat signal, it did appear that there was more activity in the area. That could mean anything, he knew – more people, perhaps, or more powerful equipment. It certainly wasn’t definitive proof of the child’s location, but he decided that they would head in that direction once the battle started.

That was, if the Jedi ever showed _up_ to the battle.

It had been several hours since they had parted ways with Arvel and Master Sio to begin the long trek across the sandy dunes to the military compound, and Din’s leg throbbed painfully now from the exertion, even with the stim shot that he had administered before starting out. Their progress had been agonizingly slow, and Karga had offered to leave his speeder bike behind, but that hadn’t been an option. Speeders were loud and had larger heat signatures than people, and they couldn’t risk alerting the Imps. All they had going for them tonight was the element of surprise.

A sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. “Something’s wrong,” he said.

Korr glanced at him. She had been quiet for most of the night, trailing behind him and Cara as they made their way across the desert; and Cara, for her part, had studiously ignored the other woman. It had made for an awkward journey, but it was probably the best that Din could hope for, given the circumstances. At least no one was dead.

Now, Korr sat further back on the rocky ledge, carefully ripping a strip of cloth from the hem of her tunic. She said mildly, “Give them a little more time.”

“They’ve had enough. We can’t wait any longer.”

She inched closer to him and said, “Let me see your leg.”

“What?”

“You’re bleeding again.”

“It’s fine.”

“You can let me rewrap it now, while we’re not doing anything but waiting, or you can bleed out as we’re trying to break into the base.”

Din saw Cara glance over at them.

He shifted over reluctantly and Korr wrapped the strip of cloth around his leg, deftly maneuvering it under his thigh guard and tying it off tightly to staunch the bleeding.

“Receiving first aid _before_ the fight is generally not a good sign,” Cara said.

“Neither is the total lack of any Jedi presence.”

“Arvel said it would take a few hours. They’re probably hanging back to give us enough time to get into position.” Cara glanced at his leg pointedly. “You know, since we walked.”

Din gazed down at the military base, his nerves tingling with frustration. For all he knew, the two Jedi could have decided to return to Coruscant; or worse, they might be planning to double-cross them and steal the child during the battle. They had made it clear the night before that they had their own objectives when it came to the kid.

He started to slide back from the ridge.

“What are you planning to do? Run in there, guns blazing, trying to take on an entire army?” Cara asked. “We wouldn’t make it past their perimeter.”

Korr added, “They’ve come this far with us. Trust them.”

Cara scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Din sighed inwardly. If the Jedi didn’t show up soon, his small team would implode on itself before the battle even started.

Suddenly a flash of light shot through the night sky above.

Then another.

And another.

And another.

Above them, starfighters were dropping out of hyperspace, bursting into existence in the space of an inhaled breath. They kept coming, one after the other, and within seconds, the sky was filled with fighter jets lined up across the dark expanse, an incredible number of them, lights flashing exuberantly, wing to wing in perfect formation.

It was a sight to behold and for a moment, no one spoke. Long ago, Din had looked to the sky and yearned to see this very spectacle as his world came crashing down around him. He hadn’t received his wish then, but he found himself staring at the mesmerizing scene above him now, wondering whether this was some kind of vindication, a closing of the circle, the Jedi’s apology for failing him all of those years ago.

But Cara surprised him by saying, “Those aren’t Jedi starfighters.”

Her face was tilted skyward and her voice sounded strange and heavy. “Those are x-wings.”

He looked at her, not understanding, and she said, “It’s the Resistance.”

Before Din could comprehend the meaning of _that_ , alarms began blaring from the military compound below. The shrill noise broke the trance and he climbed to his feet, shouldering his rifle, filled with deadly intention.

“That’s our signal. Let’s go.”

* * *

Moff Gideon paced back and forth in the cramped lab, staring at the hunched back of Doctor Pershing as he carefully tended to the subject strapped down on the examination table in front of him.

The man worked with a deliberate, infuriating slowness that had Gideon’s trigger finger twitching. More than once, he had fantasized about shooting the doctor in the leg. The man didn’t need two working legs to work. Perhaps that would ignite the sense of urgency that he seemed to lack.

It had been two days, and it felt as if they were no closer to beginning the transfer process as they had been the moment they had returned to his ship with the child in their possession. Gideon had understood that the new process would take longer than previously stated, had accepted that delay knowing that it would allow them to capture a greater amount of the raw material in the end – but progress had been excruciatingly slow and they still had nothing to show for their efforts.

Until Pershing’s work could be completed, they were trapped on this godforsaken planet. Gideon had brought two hundred stormtroopers to the surface of Arvala-7 with him – most of his remnant – but the sooner they could return to the safety of his ship, the better.

The threat of the Mandalorian had finally been eliminated, but he knew that the danger of discovery had not passed. The disgraced bounty hunter had not been the only one who knew of the existence of the child. Although Gideon had canceled the contract on the Asset as soon as he had left Rishi, many hunters could have learned its last known location before the tracking fobs had been deactivated. Greef Karga’s men were supposed to follow a code, but the Guild was full of men without honor, men who were driven solely by greed and violence and who wouldn’t hesitate to break their word for the right price.

Gideon was confident in his ability to repel these threats, but he was growing less and less confident in his doctor’s abilities by the hour.

“How much longer?” he finally asked, seething with impatience.

“This is a delicate operation – “

“Yes, yes, I know. You’ve said that more than once, and it still doesn’t answer my question.”

Doctor Pershing didn’t look up from his task. “You’ll recall that the solution used in the new process takes quite a bit longer to be absorbed by the subject. Patience is – “

“Do not speak to me as if I’m a child that needs to be admonished.”

The doctor hesitated. His voice trembled slightly when he spoke again. “Once the solution is absorbed, we can begin the extraction process. That should only take a few more hours. And then we can start the transfer.”

Gideon took a deep breath, struggling to contain his rage.

 _Soon_ , he told himself. Soon, he would have everything he needed to begin the next phase of his plan. Once this last piece of the puzzle fell into place, there would be nothing stopping him from realizing his dream.

And he would have no need of the doctor any longer.

The shrill sound of the alarms startled him out of his thoughts.

Doctor Pershing jerked upright and looked around wildly. “What is that? What’s happening?”

“Shut up,” Gideon said. The door to the lab opened and several death troopers marched in. He turned to them expectantly.

“Sir,” one said. “We’re under attack.”

“From who?”

“Resistance, looks like.”

“The Resistance?” Gideon pondered this. He had anticipated many threats – the Guild, perhaps, or even the Jedi – but _not_ the Rebellion. How had they known to look for him there? And why? After being defeated in the war, the Empire had all but fallen off the radar of the rebels and the Republic.

Perhaps there were factions of the Resistance who were still on the hunt for surviving remnants, determined to eradicate them and squash any chance of a future uprising. Perhaps they, like he himself, had grown so accustomed to the violence and war that they no longer knew how to live in peace.

Or perhaps the Jedi, made aware of the Asset’s existence after the Mandalorian’s brief visit to Coruscant, had recruited them to their cause.

Whatever the reason, they could not be allowed to interfere with the process. Not when Gideon was so close.

He turned to the doctor. “Start the extraction process now.”

“But the solution – “

Gideon pulled his blaster and leveled it at the doctor’s head. “Now,” he repeated coldly, and Doctor Pershing shrank back with a quick nod.

He turned to his death troopers. “How many men do we have on the ship?”

“Just over a hundred, sir.”

“Good. Scramble the TIE fighters. Get them down here. Prep the dropships. And seal these doors and guard the Asset. Don’t let the good doctor leave until he’s finished the work.”

He strode out of the lab.


	28. On Borrowed Time

Korr had seen an aerial dogfight before. The Imperial News Network had once televised a HoloVid of the Battle of Hoth, the single worst defeat suffered by the Rebel Alliance during the Civil War. It had been nothing more than hastily compiled propaganda, but she and Owen had stood outside of an electronics store on Coruscant, mesmerized as they watched the scene unfold on the screens in its display window. She remembered the bombers, interceptors, and gunships that had filled the sky, so many of them that it seemed impossible that they could fly without crashing into each other. She remembered the agile maneuvers of single-pilot starfighters as they swooped and dodged and pitched and rolled, firing laser cannons and proton torpedoes with devastating accuracy.

At times, the smoke in the air had been so thick that it had blotted out any sign of the battle.

Watching a firefight from the relative safety of a Coruscanti sidewalk was different, however, than sneaking through an Imperial-occupied military base while hundreds of Resistance fighters hovered overhead. Korr prayed that they would have the sense to wait for the three of them to make it inside before they started shooting.

As they ran, she reached for the small, dull blade that she’d slipped into her tunic earlier – Owen’s training knife, recovered from her ship the day before. The feel of the cool metal in her palm gave her immense comfort. She knew, without a doubt, that if given the chance, he would have fought side by side with her for the child tonight; and that knowledge gave her a strength that she hadn’t known she was missing until now.

The Mandalorian and Cara, on the other hand, seemed unbothered by the fact that they were rushing headlong into what was about to become one giant battlefield, and Korr swallowed her fear and set a single goal for herself – to keep up. As long as she was with them, she reasoned, she stood a fighting chance.

If she had thought the Mandalorian moved with the grace of a dancer during the fight on Sorgan, Cara was undeniably his well-trained partner. Together, they worked quickly and efficiently, dispatching several stormtroopers with ease as they advanced toward the base without so much as a word or glance in one another’s direction.

The Mandalorian was moving well, and the only sign of his injury was a slight hitch in his stride as he ran. Though Korr had seen firsthand just how much pain the man could take without breaking, she couldn’t help but wonder how long they had before the stim shot wore off. He had barely slept the last few days, and even bacta couldn’t heal the extent of his injuries that quickly.

They were on borrowed time, in so many ways.

Within minutes, they had reached the door of the hanger bay. The Mandalorian dispatched the two troopers standing guard at the door with a few quick pulses from his Amban rifle and Cara went to work on the locked door with a small tool.

Despite the urgency of the moment, Korr found herself staring at the spot where the stormtroopers had stood just seconds earlier, at the dust and ash that now drifted silently to the ground below.

She asked the Mandalorian, “You’ve been able to do that this entire time?”

He glanced at her. “Yes. Why?”

“Why haven’t you done it before?”

“You’re asking why I haven’t vaporized anyone in front of you before?”

“You make it sound like a stupid question,” Korr muttered as they entered the hanger, “but I can think of at least three times in the last week when that might have been helpful.”

The hanger was massive – and mostly empty, save for several large dropships that were parked haphazardly in the large warehouse. They were identical to the one that she had been held captive in on Rishi only days earlier.

“These are Gideon’s,” she said unnecessarily.

The Mandalorian nodded. “His ship is likely hovering just above the atmosphere. Along with the rest of his men.”

“The rest?”

“He wouldn’t leave his ship unprotected. And he’d have no reason to expect any threats here.”

Korr glanced toward the ceiling. “He might be rethinking that right about now.”

“There,” Cara said, pointing to a large doorway on the opposite side of the hanger. “If this base is anything like the ones I’ve been on before, that corridor will lead to the main compound. We can use it to get to the medical center.”

Korr was still staring at the transport ships. She said slowly, “These ships are their only means of getting off of the planet.”

The Mandalorian and Cara glanced at each other. He asked, “Det packs?”

She nodded and started pulling several small metal charges out of her pack.

“Set them for twenty minutes,” he said, typing something into his left vambrace. “They’ll work as a secondary diversion if we need it.”

Cara handed half of them to Korr. “Let’s make sure we’re not here when they go off.”

A few minutes later, charges had been placed on the underbelly of each ship. Korr realized that she had an extra charge but by the time she turned to Cara, she and the Mandalorian were already running toward the corridor and she barely had time to slip it into her pocket and follow them as they headed deeper into the bowels of the compound.

The hallways were empty, and Korr realized that their plan was actually _working_ – most of the Moff’s forces had been diverted to the obvious and immediate threat bearing down on them from above.

As if reading her mind, Cara said, “It’s awfully quiet out there.”

“They’re giving us time to get to the kid,” the Mandalorian replied.

She glanced at him. “Look who’s giving the Jedi the benefit of the doubt now.”

When the corridor widened into a four-way intersection, Cara hesitated.

“Which way?” Korr asked.

Her eyes narrowed as she considered their options. “I didn’t exactly memorize every Republic base I ever stepped foot on. I was usually more concerned with finding my way _out_.”

The sound of heavy boots caught Korr’s attention and she turned quickly to see five stormtroopers rounding the corner. They appeared just as surprised to come face to face with a Mandalorian and two women, stopping abruptly in their tracks.

“What the – “ the first trooper said, fumbling to bring his rifle up.

Cara, in front and closest to them, quickly dropped to the ground and swept one leg across the floor, tripping the first two troopers in one smooth motion. She was on top of them before they had even hit the ground.

Korr watched the Mandalorian adjust his grip on his rifle and swing it at the next trooper, hitting him squarely in the helmet with such force that it lifted him off of his feet. The second strike came down hard and fast on his head and he collapsed to the ground, out cold.

Another trooper came at Korr and she ducked his first punch, reaching back up with her dagger to slash his throat. Instinct and the vague muscle memory of the trooper on Rishi guided her hand, and her blade slid easily into the soft, fleshy gap just underneath the helmet. He made a wet, gurgling sound and she jumped back as he fell forward, blood spurting out of the wound and splattering on the white floor.

A second later, the Mandalorian had taken care of the last stormtrooper with a blaster bolt to the head.

He glanced at Korr and Cara and gestured in the direction that the stormtroopers had come from. “Seems as good a guess as any.”

After several more minutes of running, Korr couldn’t help but wonder if they had gotten lost. The base had looked deceptively small from the outside, but its windowless interior was strikingly nondescript and provided no views of the outside world that might have helped to orient them to their relative location.

The Mandalorian must have had the same doubts because he asked, “Is this looking familiar, Dune?”

“Familiar-ish,” was the terse reply.

At the next turn, Cara slowed and poked her head around the corner – but this time, instead of turning and giving them the all-clear, she quickly pulled back and flattened herself against the wall, holding up two fingers to the Mandalorian. He nodded, shouldering his rifle and pulling a pistol from his belt. They both stepped out from behind the wall and two quick shots rang out. After a moment, Korr stuck her head around the corner to find a pair of troopers lying motionless on the floor.

She realized that they had been guarding an airlock secured by a pair of sliding metal doors. The doors had thick glass panes in them, and she was able to see beyond the anteroom and into what appeared to be a laboratory of sorts.

Without fanfare, the Mandalorian shot at the electric lock on the door and suddenly they were in the lab.

Korr’s heart jumped into her throat at the sight that greeted them – the _child_ , strapped down on an exam table that was much too large for him. The next thing that registered was the sight of a man in a white lab coat and dark, tinted glasses, cowering in the opposite corner of the room, keeping the table between him and them as if to use it as some kind of shield.

The table didn’t faze the Mandalorian. He lunged forward and grabbed the doctor by the collar of his coat, shaking him so hard that Korr swore she heard his teeth rattle in his skull.

“What did you do to him?” he asked, his voice low with a cold, barely suppressed rage.

“N-nothing,” the man replied in a trembling voice, holding his hands up. “I haven’t done anything – ”

The Mandalorian jammed his pistol against the man’s throat, angling the muzzle up into his jaw. “That’s not what it looks like.”

The doctor choked out an unintelligible reply and though Korr could see no movement or change in the Mandalorian’s threatening hold, he must have relaxed his grip because suddenly the man was sputtering and speaking. “He’s just sedated, I swear! He would be dead by now if it wasn’t for me.”

Korr approached the exam table. It was clearly meant for a much larger patient, and the child’s diminutive size in comparison made him appear that much more vulnerable. There were no signs of obvious injury, but his skin was a sickly green color and he lay still, so still, in an unnatural sleep. It made her chest hurt to see him like that.

He hadn’t even stirred at the sound of the Mandalorian’s voice.

She thought, _this is my fault._

She turned to Cara with a lump in her throat. “Help me get these straps off.”

There was a brief commotion from the corner of the room and she turned to see the doctor trying, somewhat feebly, to break away from the Mandalorian. His attempt earned him a heavily armored knee to the gut and he doubled over with a whimper, falling to the ground. Gasping for breath, he looked toward the examination table with a face twisted in pain. “Please – don’t move him. You’ll damage him.”

“ _Damage_ him?” the Mandalorian repeated incredulously.

“Yes. H-he is in a very fragile state. If he wakes up too quickly, if he tries to use his powers…it’ll likely kill him.”

“Why?” When the doctor didn’t respond immediately, the Mandalorian leveled his blaster at his head again. “ _Why_?”

“The s-solution.” A pause. “The solution we’ve injected him with is isolating the material within his bloodstream…but the process is very hard on the body. We’ve put him in a medically induced coma to reduce the stress, but….”

The Mandalorian levelled his helmet at the man, and suddenly Korr was afraid that he was going to kill him before they could learn how to help the child.

She asked hurriedly, “How do we get the solution out of him?”

The doctor shook his head. “You can’t. He’ll wake up naturally – but that won’t be for another day, at least. More likely two or three.”

The Mandalorian picked him up again and slammed him against the wall of the lab. “We don’t _have_ days.”

The doctor hesitated, his eyes darting wildly amongst the three of them, as if he was trying to decide who to appeal to. “Well, there is a way…but I need to get something from my cabinet. It’s there, in the corner.”

If he had hoped that he might be allowed to retrieve the aforementioned solution, he was disappointed. The Mandalorian made no move to release him and said instead, “Tell us what you need.”

“It’s an enzyme. N-acetyltransferase. It’ll help him metabolize the drug faster. But – “

And then the child made a sound.

It was a faint cry, nothing more than the sound generated by a troubled dream or an unrestful sleep, but on the heels of the doctor’s revelation it was entirely unexpected and the Mandalorian turned to look at the foundling.

Possibly nothing more would have come of the momentary distraction if it hadn’t been for a sudden explosion that shook the room with so much force that the lights flickered madly and Korr was knocked off of her feet. She fell to the floor, landing hard on her knees, narrowly avoiding slamming her head into the edge of the exam table.

She heard a shout, the sounds of a brief scuffle, and pulled out the gun that the Mandalorian had given her, figuring that it would be a good thing to have in her hand – but when she looked up, all she saw was a figure darting toward the doorway.

Cara, with one hand against the wall to steady herself, drew her blaster and aimed it at the doctor’s retreating back but the Mandalorian put a hand on her arm quickly.

“No. We need him alive.”

“I can put a hole in him without killing him,” she muttered, but she holstered her pistol. “Fucking Resistance. You’d think they would know not to fire directly on the compound while we’re still _in_ it.”

The Mandalorian started toward the door and then it was Cara’s turn to stop him.

“No way, buddy. A one-legged stormtrooper could outrun you right now. I’ll go after the doctor. You guys need to get the kid out of here.”

He seemed about to argue with her but thought better of it and simply unslung his rifle with a terse nod.

“We need him alive,” he repeated, handing her the gun.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

“Be careful. And quick.” He glanced at his vambrace and said, “You’ve got twelve minutes until the hanger blows.”

She nodded, slinging the strap of his rifle around her chest. She glanced at Korr and said, “Don’t screw this up.”

Before Korr could think of a suitable retort to that snarky comment, Cara was gone and she was alone with the Mandalorian in the lab, staring helplessly at the prone body of the child as the chaotic sounds of war raged on overhead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big news, guys - I've updated the chapter count on this story (and I'm even pretty confident that I can stick to it). The end is in sight. Thanks for sticking with me through the last 28 chapters. I started writing this without any real ambition other than a spark of inspiration, but the views, kudos, and comments have given me the motivation to see this through and produce a story that I can be proud of. I appreciate them more than I can express!


	29. The Showdown

Gideon required his men to run regular drills while aboard his Destroyer, and consequently they had managed to scramble the TIE fighters and head for the surface of Arvala-7 within minutes of his issuing the command. He had given his pilots simple instructions – upon entering the planet’s atmosphere, they were to engage immediately and kill indiscriminately.

Now, he stood in the command center of the military compound with a small contingent of death troopers. It was a cramped, dark room with banks of computers lining the walls. The tech was old, clearly antiquated, and all of the monitors were dark and dusty with disuse. The base, like the planet itself, was long past the time when it had once been important to someone, and it was a strange experience to be standing in the ruins of an abandoned military base, trying to command a battle out of its skeleton.

The structure had been built soundly, however, and its thick walls muffled the sounds of the fight happening overhead as his troopers engaged the Resistance fighters – the high-pitched whine of lasers, the booming of cannons, and the occasional explosion that would shake the foundation and knock dust from the latticework of ducts and piping that stretched overhead.

Gideon didn’t care much about the outcome of the battle. If every single one of his troopers were killed tonight, it would make getting off Arvala-7 difficult…but not impossible.

All he needed was time – and as long as his army kept the Rebel scum occupied, he would have it.

He was considering returning to the lab to check on the doctor’s progress when none other than the man himself burst through the doors of the command center. He staggered into the room, clearly winded, bent nearly in half and gasping for breath.

Gideon studied at him with distaste. “You better have a good reason for being here instead of with your patient, Doctor.”

“It’s – it’s _him_.”

A sinking feeling filled his stomach. “Who?”

“The Mandalorian. He’s here.”

As unwelcome as the news was, Gideon realized that he was not, in fact, surprised.

Leaving the Mandalorian alive on Rishi had been a mistake. He had recognized that as soon as the euphoria of getting his hands on the Asset had worn off. It had been sloppy, arrogant treatment of a man who had proven himself to be such a thorn in Gideon’s side over these last several months. He should have killed him when he’d had the chance, but he’d been so taken with the sweetness of the Mandalorian’s defeat, at the sight of the man lying there at the feet of the woman who had betrayed him. At the time, prolonging his suffering had seemed a fate much crueler than death.

Gideon had let his emotions get the better of him that day, and now he was going to have to deal with the consequences.

If the Mandalorian had found the doctor, it stood to reason that he had found the Asset.

There was no time to waste.

Gideon motioned to the troopers surrounding him. “Come with me. We’re going to end this once and for all.”

* * *

Din stared down at the foundling as he cut the straps that secured him to the bed, fighting to keep a deep, pervading sense of helplessness at bay. The child lay so still, his eyes closed and his mouth half-open, tiny claws curled into fists at his sides – and in that moment he seemed so fragile, as if he might shatter into a thousand pieces at the slightest touch.

For the second time in as many hours, Din had the uncanny sense that he was reliving history. Once again, he had allowed the child to fall into the hands of the Imps. Once again, he had burst into a lab to find that miserable parasite of a doctor hovering over the prone body of the foundling.

Once again, he had been nearly too late.

“Nothing in here is labeled,” Korr said, snapping him back to the present. She was frowning, clearly frustrated, as she knelt in front of the medicine cabinet, rummaging through the doctor’s supplies. “And I have no idea what this solution is supposed to look like.”

“Keep looking.”

“Even if we find it, what are we supposed to do – guess how much we’re supposed to give him? We need the doctor to tell us the correct dosage.”

Din glanced down at his vambrace, watching the seconds drip away with a growing sense of unease. Cara wasn’t back yet. If she hadn’t been able to stop the doctor, there was a good chance that he had already alerted someone to their presence.

“We’re out of time,” he said.

Korr looked at the child. “But we can’t move him without – “

“We don’t have a choice. We’ve waited too long as it is. We have to go. Now.”

“And Cara? We can’t just leave without her.”

“Cara can take care of herself,” Din replied tersely. That was true, and he knew it better than most, but it didn’t make the thought of leaving without her any more palatable.

What was even _less_ palatable, however, was the possibility of failing to save the kid – or Cara’s wrath, if she ever discovered that he had put the rescue mission in jeopardy because of her.

He carefully lifted the child off of the table as Korr grabbed a small towel out of the cabinet. She wrapped him in the soft fabric and pulled him close to her chest. Din found himself holding his breath, both hoping and fearing that the child would wake up, but he didn’t stir.

“What do you think he meant?” Korr asked quietly, placing her hand gently against the child’s forehead.

“Who?”

“The doctor. When he said that the child would be…dead, if it wasn’t for him.”

“He’s a _hut’uun_ ,” Din said. She looked at him questioningly. “A coward. He’d say anything if he thought it would save him some pain.”

The doctor had said something similar to him on Nevarro. Then, it had confused him enough that he had spared the man’s life. He hoped he’d have the opportunity to correct that mistake tonight.

Korr started to say something, but suddenly Din was aware of the sound of rapid, purposeful footsteps – footsteps that were growing louder by the second. She looked at him in alarm and pulled the child closer to her chest.

He turned toward the door of the lab just as Moff Gideon appeared in the entryway, flanked by several death troopers. They spilled into the room and within seconds they were standing side by side with their rifles leveled at him and Korr, blocking the only path of escape.

Gideon’s right hand rested lightly on the lightsaber hilt at his belt. The mere sight of the weapon caused Din’s wound to throb painfully.

As if reading his mind, the Moff said, “I have to say that I’m impressed to see you again so soon, and looking so well.”

Aware of Korr’s position relative to his own, Din shifted slightly in an attempt to shield her and the child from the rifles of the troopers. He let his hand drop to the grip of his pistol.

“I wouldn’t recommend that course of action,” Gideon said. “The walls of this facility are constructed of tempersteel. If you miss, the blaster bolt is as likely to ricochet off the wall and into your companion here than any one of my troopers.”

“I won’t miss.”

“Arrogant words, coming from someone who has been on the losing end of our last few encounters.” He added, “I’d also advise you to put the Asset down. Moving him now, in the condition he’s in, you’ve got as much a chance of killing him as I do.”

“You’re a monster,” Korr said, her voice dripping with disgust and loathing. “You did this to him.”

Gideon glanced at her disinterestedly. “And _you_ have proven quite the disappointment.”

“I’m sorry that I ever helped you.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You have played far less of a role in all of this than you think.”

“We’re here, aren’t we?”

Gideon acknowledged that with a nod. “And if I had more time, I’d be curious to learn what transpired on that muggy, insufferable island after I left – but I suspect it would be an underwhelming tale. Clearly, you’ve chosen to leave the memory of your beloved brother behind in the dirty bowels of Coruscant in order to align yourself with this man. Such an admirable display of loyalty.”

Korr bristled, tension and ferocity radiating off of her in waves, and if she hadn’t been holding the child, Din knew she would have lunged at him.

Gideon asked him, “So what’s the play here? Will you be offering your unconditional surrender for the girl’s release again?”

“I’d be tempted if I knew it would stop your talking.”

A cold, humorless smile. “Hand the Asset over. Do it now and without further difficulty, and I might be inclined to give you both quick and relatively painless deaths.”

“The kid’s coming with us.”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Gideon said, gesturing to the troopers behind him, “you’re not going anywhere.”

Din’s fingers tightened around the grip of his pistol. “What makes you think I’m trying to leave?”

He heard a soft intake of breath behind him as Korr registered his statement. Surprise flashed in the Moff’s eyes, followed swiftly by a look of understanding. It appeared that his assessment of the man’s character had proven correct, and he pressed his luck and said, “Let’s end this.”

Gideon nodded slowly, considering his proposal. “I, too, have grown weary of our long-lasting affair. I regretted my decision to leave you alive the last time we met, but perhaps that was for the best. It will allow me the pleasure of killing you tonight.” He nodded at the lightsaber hilt on Din’s belt. “A duel, then? I see you’ve updated your arsenal since Rishi.”

It wasn’t Din’s first choice of weapon, but he’d expected that it might come to this. Given the Jedi’s offering, perhaps they had as well.

“A gift from someone who wanted to even the odds.”

“The same _someone_ , I suspect, who is responsible for the firefight taking place above our heads. Another interesting story, I’m sure, if only we had more time.” Gideon shook his head. “But it doesn’t matter. There will be a certain symmetry to killing you with the Darksaber.”

Din glanced at the death troopers lined up behind the Moff. “How do I know that they won’t interfere?”

Another thin smile. “You have my word.”

He knew how little that was worth – but it would be all that he’d get. He could only hope that Gideon’s perverse sense of honor and arrogance would motivate him to keep a promise given it in front of his men.

The Moff turned away and removed his cloak, revealing dark, high-quality battle armor – Beskar. The sight of it filled Din with a cold and seething anger. Gideon wore armor crafted out of Mandalorian steel and carried the weapon of their Mand’alor, but he was worthy of neither.

The prospect of killing the man tonight and prying the Darksaber from his cold, dead hands set his nerves afire with anticipation.

Din started to pull his own lightsaber from his belt. Korr stepped close to him.

“What are you _doing_?” she hissed. “Even if you beat him, you can’t possibly expect him to keep his word.”

“Do you see another option?”

“Just shoot him and be done with it.”

“And then? His troopers would kill us both before I could get a second shot off.”

“I have a gun, too.”

“You have to protect the child.”

“I can do both.”

He ignored that and asked, “You remember the way we came?”

She shook her head fiercely. “No. We’re not going through this again.”

“When you see an opening – “

“I’m _not_ leaving you.”

“You have to. You have to get the kid out of here. It’s the only reason we came.”

“Is it?” Korr asked darkly. “Because right now you’re acting like you have other priorities.”

Din didn’t reply and she said, “I know you want revenge. And I know better than anyone that it’s not worth it. Please don’t do this.”

Before he could respond, he felt, rather than heard, a strange charge in the air behind him and turned to see Gideon standing before him with the Darksaber held upright and aflame, both hands wrapped around its hilt.

He swallowed and drew his own lightsaber. It occurred to him that he should have inspected the weapon to learn how to turn the damn thing on.

The Moff didn’t wait for him to figure it out and lunged forward, forcing Din to backpedal quickly in order to avoid his attack. Pain shot through his leg at the unexpected movement and he braced himself clumsily with the other.

He found the switch on the hilt of the weapon and a bright white beam of plasma shot into existence, nearly blinding in its intensity, and he brought it up and over his head just in time to block Gideon’s next downward blow.

Din knew immediately that training with longswords as a youth had _not_ prepared him adequately for this fight. The lightsaber was balanced much differently than a sword, for one, with all of its weight in the hilt; and he had to temper the force of his thrusts accordingly.

Gideon thrust the Darksaber forward, cutting upward in a fast, reflexive attack, and Din fended off the blow by swinging his arm up and away from his body. The two blades met with a ferocious buzz and he shoved the Moff back with the full force of his momentum, following up with a quick strike at Gideon’s ribs before he could recover. His lightsaber only glanced off the man’s armor and then he had to jump back once more to avoid the Darksaber as it passed within an inch of his helmet.

Gideon pressed forward relentlessly, cutting and thrusting and driving him backward, never letting him regain his balance. Din parried desperately, trying to counter, but the size of the room restricted his movements and he was painfully aware of the proximity of Korr and the child.

He knew that he needed to land a strike to an unprotected area of Gideon’s body in order to cause any actual damage. Beskar was one of the only metals in existence that was rumored to be able to withstand lightsabers, and while Din’s helmet gave him a defensive advantage, Gideon was the one who was trained in lightsaber combat – and it showed.

The Moff managed to connect with Din’s midsection and while the plasma blade didn’t penetrate the cuirass, the force of the blow to his injured ribs was enough to steal his breath away. He stumbled backward and Gideon pressed forward, landing a fierce kick against his bad leg. He felt his wound split open and shooting pain rocketed through his body, sending him down to one knee. The Moff lifted the Darksaber over his head to deliver another strike, and Din desperately raised his own weapon in defense – and then a ferocious explosion rocked the lab, sending Gideon careening into the nearest wall.

They were close enough to the hanger bay that Din felt the blast of heat from the explosion as it funneled its way into the lab, and the resulting shudder sent several pipes clattering to the floor in a shower of dust and debris. A death trooper stepped forward to help the Moff up, but Gideon shook him off and glared at Din. “Your doing?”

 _Your ships_ , Din thought, but didn’t reply. Then Gideon was rushing forward again with renewed fury, forcing him back. He lifted the Darksaber overhead with both hands, exposing himself in the process, and Din saw an opportunity. He darted forward, ignoring the nauseating pain radiating from his leg, and hit him squarely in the face with his helmet.

Gideon staggered backward, blood streaming from his broken nose, and Din lunged at him, putting the full weight of his body behind the movement, colliding with him with enough force to knock the Darksaber out of his hands. The weapon skittered harmlessly across the floor, coming to a stop at the feet of the death troopers, and Din slammed the Moff against the wall.

Din was breathing heavily from both pain and exertion, but he kept his lightsaber pointed at Gideon’s face. The light from the plasma blade made the Moff’s eyes gleam with a strange glow. He stared at Din with undisguised hatred.

For a moment, no one moved. Din could feel the tense eyes of a dozen death troopers boring into his back. Then, a sneered question from the Moff. “What are you waiting for?”

“Tell your men to step aside.”

“Or what? If you want to kill me half as badly as I want to kill you, nothing I do or say now will make a difference. Now’s your chance. Possibly the only one you’ll get.”

Din didn’t reply. He moved the lightsaber down toward Gideon’s throat with a steady hand, close enough that he was sure the man could feel the vibrations coming off of the blade. To his credit, Gideon didn’t flinch.

“Tell them to move aside,” Din repeated slowly, “and if any of them so much as coughs into their comm links, I’ll burn a hole through your throat.”

It was bad enough to send Korr and the child out without him or Cara. The last thing he needed was for the Imps to get a warning out to their compatriots before she could escape.

Finally, Gideon issued the order to his death troopers through gritted teeth. “Do it.”

There was the sound of clanking armor and reluctant shuffling, and then Korr’s voice, urgent and insistent in Din’s ear.

“Come with us.”

“Go,” Din said, his eyes never leaving the Moff’s.

For a moment there was only a stillness, and he worried that he would have to divert more of his attention to force her to leave – but then he heard footsteps, and turned just enough to see her retreating back as she ran out of the lab.

“Now what?” Gideon asked as the sound of her footsteps receded down the corridor. “You’re in a difficult position, Din Djarin. If you kill me, which I’m certain is your intent, there will be nothing to stop my troopers from killing you. If you don’t, _I’ll_ kill you. There’s no scenario here in which you make it out alive.”

Din almost nodded.

There would be no saving the child as long as the Moff lived. And if Din had to die at the hands of Imps to ensure Gideon’s death, getting shot in the back by a dozen blaster bolts was better than being tortured to death by an interrogator droid.

Truth be told, he was exhausted, tired in a bone-deep way that felt like it would never fade, and not that he would ever _truly_ be ready for death – but in that moment, it didn’t seem like too much of a sacrifice to make to ensure that Korr and the child were safe.

He drew his blaster and trained it on the Moff. The lightsaber had served him well enough, but he was relieved to have the familiar weight of his pistol in his hand now.

“You’re a fool,” Gideon said. “You’ve thrown your life away, and for what? A girl who not so long ago wanted nothing more than to kill you in your sleep and sell the Asset to me.”

“You manipulated her.”

“I told you on Rishi – _she_ came to me. All I did was give her the means to find you. I didn’t tell her how to win your trust or how to worm her way onto your ship. She did that all on her own. And now she’s run off with the Asset while you stand here, ready to die for them both. So who manipulated who?”

Din didn’t reply. Gideon continued angrily, “You have no idea what you’ve done. You have no idea what your idiotic meddling has cost the galaxy.”

“I know that the child doesn’t deserve to suffer for your pitiful cause,” Din replied.

He pressed the blaster to Gideon’s head. The Moff squared his shoulders.

“I suppose neither of us will know whether our sacrifices were worth it, in the end.”

“No,” Din replied. “That’s one thing we can agree on.”

His finger tightened on the trigger, and behind him, he heard the death troopers cock their rifles.

The sharp _ping_ of blaster fire suddenly erupted from the corridor beyond the lab. It was rapidly followed by a volley of answering shots, but before Din could make sense of what he was hearing, there was another sound – one that caused his heart to constrict painfully in his chest.

A scream. It was faint, but it was undeniably Korr’s voice, and it sent a shiver down his spine.

When her cry cut off abruptly, he took an involuntary step toward the door, straining to listen for something else, _anything_ else, that might give him reason to hope.

There was only silence.

“Well,” Gideon said, drawing his attention, “maybe one of us will find out after all.”

He looked past Din and said to his death troopers, “Go. Find out what’s befallen our lost friends. Bring back the Asset – and whatever’s left of the girl.”

 _No_. Din turned toward the troopers, intent on stopping them. Abruptly, he heard a sharp, sudden retort that made his body shudder and his world go fuzzy for a split-second. He looked down with a strange sense of disbelief to see the muzzle of a blaster pistol pressed against his stomach, just below his cuirass.

When he looked back up, Gideon was smiling at him. The pain suddenly blossomed in a fiery hot surge, coursing through his body like wildfire, and he staggered backward, his knees going weak. The Moff was still smiling as he squeezed the trigger again and fired a second blaster bolt into Din’s side.

He fell to his knees with a pained gasp, struggling to breathe as his vision flickered. He tried to raise the blaster in his hand but Gideon kicked him in the chest, knocking him onto his back, and the gun clattered to the floor beside him harmlessly. Before he could reach it, Gideon kicked it across the room, then bent in one fell swoop and picked up the Darksaber.

Din reached for the knife in his ankle sheath but Gideon kicked him savagely in the head and he fell backward onto the ground. Stars shot through his vision and before he could recover, the Moff stepped on his wrist, pinning it to the floor.

The Moff stood over him, the tip of the Darksaber leveled at his face. “Now, Din Djarin, I will thank you for giving me the chance to do what I should have done back on Rishi.”


	30. Reckoning

Before Korr had left the lab, she’d known that she couldn’t leave the Mandalorian behind – even if saving the child had been _his_ only objective tonight. But she wasn’t stupid enough to think that she could take on a dozen death troopers by herself, and Cara was nowhere to be seen.

She needed to find a way to even the odds.

By the time she’d arrived at the intersection that she had reached with Cara and the Mandalorian earlier that night, she had a plan - and if she didn’t dwell for too long on any individual detail of it, it almost seemed like a good one.

Korr remembered what Gideon had said earlier. _If you miss your shot in here, it’s as likely to ricochet…._

The sound from a single blaster bolt being fired in the echo chamber created by the tempersteel corridors would be loud and disorienting; from many, possibly chaotic enough to give the impression of a final confrontation, a desperate stand.

Surely that would be enough to draw the attention of any Imp in the vicinity.

Korr crouched low against the wall. She gently placed the child on the floor and planted herself directly over him on her hands and knees in an attempt to shield him with her own body. He was still unconscious, his brow furrowed in a slight frown.

Just then, she would have given anything for one of his inquisitive head tilts. A giggle. An ear twitch.

“Everything is going to be okay,” she said to him, because it was the only thing she could think of.

Then she drew the Mandalorian’s blaster from her belt, held her breath, stuck her arm around the corner, and fired blindly down the corridor.

Once. Twice. Three more times, in rapid succession.

The resulting cacophony of blaster fire as the shots ricocheted back and forth throughout the corridor was terrifyingly loud and Korr tensed, half-expecting a deflected bolt to rip through her body at any second. As soon as the sound of gunfire abated just enough to allow another sound to register with any nearby listeners, she sucked in a deep breath and let out a bloodcurdling scream, biting off the cry abruptly to give the impression of an interruption.

She knew that if her scream managed to make it to the ears of the stormtroopers in the lab, Mando would hear it too. There was no telling what kind of alarm that might incite in him, but there was nothing to be done about it. She couldn’t warn him without warning the Imps.

Even through all of _that_ , the child didn’t stir. The fact both relieved and terrified her.

Korr didn’t have to wait long before the sound of heavy boots could be heard hurrying down the corridor. Without any way to know for sure, she could only hope that they were the stormtroopers from the lab – sent by the Moff to investigate the cause of the commotion.

She purposely did _not_ think about what might have transpired in the lab to give Gideon the confidence to send his men away. He would be desperate to get the child back, she told herself. He would do so at any cost, even if he himself were still in mortal danger.

From the sound of it, there were a lot of Imps heading her way.

That was good. If her plan was to work, it needed to be as many of them as possible.

Korr reached into her tunic and pulled out the extra det pack that she’d pocketed back in the hanger. She flipped the safety catch off and pressed the little green button on the side of the device. A bright red number flashed on the small screen in response.

It was a countdown, and it was starting from five.

 _Shit_. She’d expected a longer timer.

When she was down to two seconds, she hurled the charge around the corner, in the direction of the footsteps, then flung herself over the child in another feeble attempt to protect him, all the while knowing that she offered woefully inadequate protection against either death troopers or fire.

From a distance there was a startled shout, and then an explosion that shook the entire structure with such force that it seemed for a moment to be on the brink of collapse. A fiery draft of heat swept through the corridor, sucking up all of the oxygen as effectively as an airlock being opened to space, and Korr held her breath as smoke billowed down the hallway, stinging her eyes and enveloping her and the child in a swirling cloud of dust.

For a long time, there was only darkness and silence, and it was terrifying.

After what felt like an eternity, the world began to reveal itself once more and Korr sat up. The smoke was slowly rising, thinning at the level of the floor as it was sucked into the exhausts above, but she couldn’t see anything beyond a few feet in front of her. Soot had managed to make its way past her and settle on the child’s face, and she gently the dust off with part of the towel that he was wrapped in.

“We’re going to go find your stubborn dad now,” she said to him hoarsely, her eyes burning. “We’re going to find him and save him from himself.”

Korr picked up the foundling and began to make her way down the corridor with the Mandalorian’s blaster in her hand, willing her own words to be true.

Shortly, she came across the evidence of her success. She picked her way across the grisly scene, stepping gingerly around smoldering bits of armor, helmets and chest plates and boots that had been thrown off by the force of the explosion, bodies that had been tossed against the walls of the corridor and now lay in mangled heaps on the floor.

Korr thought, _gods they’re only men_ , and bile rose in her throat. She had killed before, but never so many – and always in self-defense. She knew stormtroopers were separated from their families at a young age and recruited to serve as expendable foot soldiers of the Empire – but how many of these men were someone’s brother?

When she reached the entrance to the lab, she briefly considered leaving the child in the airlock – at least until she could assess the situation within – but quickly decided against it. No matter what awaited her in the lab, she couldn’t let him out of her sight. The Mandalorian would kill her if she did and anything happened to the kid as a result – that was, if he wasn’t already dead himself.

The possibility filled her with a renewed sense of panic. He couldn’t be dead. She’d left him only minutes ago.

But it was so quiet.

She walked through the door of the lab, her heart in her throat, and immediately knew why.

Gideon lay in a crumpled heap on the floor beside the medicine cabinet. There was a bloody gash across the back of his head, and a large piece of metal piping lay nearby – likely a result of the explosion she’d set off in the corridor. He was either unconscious or dead, but all thoughts of investigating further fled Korr’s mind when she saw the Mandalorian.

He was sitting not far from Gideon – leaning against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him, in a growing pool of blood. The Darksaber lay on the floor beside him.

“No!” Korr fell to her knees beside him, setting the child down hastily on the floor between them. The Mandalorian had one hand pressed tightly against his stomach and she stared in horror at the blood seeping out from between the fingers of his glove.

“You’re hurt,” she said dumbly.

He ignored her observation. “What…are you doing here?”

“I came back,” she replied, incredulous that he had to ask. “I couldn’t leave you.”

Instinctively, she reached out and touched his helmet just where she knew his cheek would be. She felt the cold, contoured steel against her palm and the irregular cadence of his breaths reverberate along her fingers and she wished desperately that he could feel her hand against his skin.

He covered her hand with his own, as if to pull it away or cast it aside, but instead he simply let their joined hands fall to his lap.

“You shouldn’t have come back,” he said quietly. “That wasn’t…the plan.”

Korr stared down at their intertwined fingers, struck by both the novelty and the peril of the moment. Was he holding her hand? And was he only doing that because he was dying? “And this was?”

The Mandalorian leaned back against the wall as if the act of holding his head upright had become too much of an effort. “Maybe.”

“Then you’re an idiot,” she said unsteadily. “And you’re not allowed to make the plans anymore.”

His response was a strained _huff_ that might have been interpreted in any number of ways.

She looked at Gideon, trying to piece the scene together. The last thing she’d seen before she’d left was the Mandalorian holding a lightsaber to the Moff’s throat. “What happened?”

There was a pause. “You screamed and I…Gideon used that distraction to his advantage. He had a blaster....” He must have interpreted the look on her face because he said quietly, “It’s not your fault.”

“You’ve been shot because of me. How is that not my fault?”

“I would have…killed him once I’d bought you enough time to get away,” he replied, and it sounded worryingly like he was out of breath. “And then his troopers would have killed me. The only reason I’m still alive is...because of you.”

Korr nodded mutely, still too disturbed by his injuries to feel any sense of pride in her accomplishment, wanting desperately to believe that the blood leaking out of his body wasn’t going to be the death of him anyway.

The Mandalorian picked up the hilt of the Darksaber and offered it to her. “Take this. Get the child out of here.”

She looked at the weapon but made no move to take it. “You’re coming with us.”

He took a sharp breath, and by the way he leaned forward suddenly, she knew that it had cost him. Through gritted teeth, he replied simply, “No.”

Korr was suddenly gripped by a fierce anger. “Why are you so intent on dying tonight?”

“The entire compound is about to go. I won’t make it out in time.” He looked at her and she could hear the uncharacteristic desperation in his voice when he said, “You have to save the child. You need to return the Darksaber to my people.”

 _It’s a piece of metal_ , Korr wanted to say. _You’re a living, breathing person._

“I can’t do any of that without you, Mando. I don’t even _know_ any other Mandalorians.” He didn’t respond and she continued, “Let’s go. Together. If you spent half as much energy on trying to save yourself as you are on trying to _sacrifice_ yourself, we’d already be halfway off this base.”

He was quiet. Thinking, maybe, that bleeding to death would be preferable to her nagging.

It didn’t matter what he was thinking about her, she realized suddenly. It didn’t matter if he trusted her or even liked her. It didn’t matter if he didn’t feel the same way about her as she now knew, unequivocally and undeniably, that she felt about him.

She would give anything to keep the child safe. She would give her life, if it came to that.

What she wouldn’t give was _his_ life.

Korr said quietly, “You almost died because of me once…because I was too weak and confused to do anything to stop it. I’m not going to make the same mistake again. Don’t ask me to. The kid needs you.”

The Mandalorian didn’t react to that other than to drop his head to look at the foundling.

She said, “ _I_ need you.”

He looked up at her then, and she added, “We stand a better chance with you, whether you’re injured or not. I’m not leaving without you. I’m going over to that cabinet to look for bacta, or bandages, or anything that can be used to patch you together, and then we’re going to walk out of here together.”

Without waiting for a response, she stood up and went to the medicine cabinet. The Mandalorian wasn’t arguing with her anymore, and she decided to take that as a sign of his agreement rather than of his deteriorating condition.

“Did you…see Cara?” he asked after a moment, then broke down coughing. The wetness of the sound startled her and she turned to see him nearly doubled over in pain.

“Don’t talk,” she said. “Save your strength.” And then, “I didn’t see her, but I didn’t get too far from the lab.”

Korr rifled through the cabinet once again, searching desperately for spray bandages, a bacta patch, or even a small scrap of synthflesh – but its contents contained nothing that even remotely looked like something that might belong in a medpack. There was a small stim-shot at the back of the cabinet and she snatched it up. It was better than nothing.

“If we can find a speeder bike, we can make good time back to the ship,” she said, more to herself than the Mandalorian. The Jedi would be able to help him – if not through the Force, than at the very least with the basic med supplies they would surely have on their ship. And then, to lighten the mood, she added, “Maybe we shouldn’t have blown up their dropships, huh?”

When there was no response, she glanced over and saw the Mandalorian still, his head nodding against his chest, his arms slack at his sides.

A cold fear settled in her bones.

“Hey! Mando,” she said urgently, and started to go to him.

As distracted as she was, it took her far too long to register the sound of a single footstep, to sense the movement behind her.

Before she could turn around, something heavy hit her in the back of the head and knocked her to the ground. She lay there for a moment, stunned, as someone roughly flipped her over onto her back.

Korr found herself staring up into the bloodshot, wild eyes of Moff Gideon.

“I should have killed you that day on Nevarro,” he said hoarsely, his voice ragged and uneven with fury. Gone was the cold, calculated air of the Imperial Moff; this was a man who had lost all control, a man full of furious, unbridled hatred. A man making his last stand.

He put his hands on her throat and squeezed, and she felt her airway constrict painfully. She clawed at Gideon’s hands and he slammed her head against the floor, sending white flashes of light shooting through her vision. He needn’t have bothered with that little brutality – he had the advantage of leverage as he straddled her and his hands were like iron vises against her throat. Korr reached desperately for her daggers, but her belt had gotten twisted and her blades lay beneath her body, completely inaccessible. Her vision started to tunnel and she realized that she was on the verge of losing consciousness.

 _No_. She had to protect the child. She had to save the Mandalorian.

This couldn’t be the end.

Her fingers found a small, hard object in the leather pouch of her belt and she grabbed at it desperately, somehow managing to ease it out of its case, then fumbling with it for purchase to find the right angle. She found it and used every ounce of her remaining strength to shove it into the Moff’s face.

He roared in pain and reared back, clawing at his face where Owen’s training blade had pierced his forehead, just above his right eye. Korr scrambled backward on her elbows and he made a wild lunge at her but missed, half-blinded as he was by the blood spilling over his eye. She kicked him in the chest as hard as she could and he fell backward.

She started to get up but Gideon reached out again, this time managing to get a hand around her ankle, and wrenched it savagely. Korr screamed, collapsing to the ground as her leg gave out from under her. Gideon kicked her in the ribs, knocking the air from her lungs, and she doubled over on the floor as the lights flickered haphazardly above her.

She heard the sound of a blaster being charged and forced herself to look up.

“I had hoped,” Gideon said, breathing heavily, “that it wouldn’t come to this.”

Korr stared into the muzzle of the blaster pointed at her face.

“The two of you deserve each other. Both too short-sighted to see what could have been.” He raised his pistol. “Now you can die with each other.”

She wanted to face her death head-on, but at the last moment she closed her eyes, unwilling for the Moff’s face to be the last thing she saw. Instead, the image of the day at the beach on Rishi flashed into her mind. She felt the strong, steady presence of the Mandalorian beside her as she squinted into a blinding sun and watched the child totter toward the sea.

There was a strange sizzling sound and she felt something wet splash across her face – which was kind of strange, she couldn’t quite understand the physics of that – and she held her breath, waiting for the pain or the blackness or whatever death felt like.

Nothing happened. When she opened her eyes, Gideon was staring at her with a strange look on his face. The tip of the Darksaber was protruding from his mouth.

The gun dropped from his hand and the blade retracted and he fell forward, dead before he’d even hit the ground.

When his body fell, it revealed the Mandalorian on his knees behind him, the Darksaber in his hand. He lowered the blade and said quietly, “He always talked too much.”


	31. A Hollow Victory

Din was uneasy.

The battle had ended hours ago and now, in the cargo bay of the Jedi’s ship, it was so quiet, so _still_. He could almost convince himself that the earlier carnage had taken place on another world, in another life.

Moff Gideon was dead, and the constant threat to the child’s wellbeing that had cast a shadow over every waking moment for the last several months had died with him. The foundling was safe now – safer, perhaps, than he’d been since the world had first learned of his existence.

To Din, though, it felt like the hollowest of victories.

The child had not yet woken from that troubling, unnatural sleep.

And Cara was missing.

 _He_ was alive, but he might as well have been dead for all the good he could do for either of them.

Frustration burned like a hot coal in his chest as he sat and watched the child sleep. He had done nothing else for the last few hours, had not looked at anything but the kid’s face, as if by maintaining that vigilance he might somehow _will_ him back to life.

His eyes were dry and gritty, his body stiff and unmovable, and his armor felt heavier than he could remember it feeling since the day he had donned it for the first time. His leg throbbed painfully, but the discomfort of that injury was dwarfed now by the two new holes in his stomach, courtesy of Gideon. _Those_ wounds flared fiercely every time he had the nerve to draw a breath. The stim-shot that Korr had given him in the lab and the bacta infusion that Arvel had administered hours later had done enough to keep him alive, but nothing for the pain.

He would not be whole for a long time, he knew. And the next few days would determine whether or not that mattered anymore.

A pair of leather boots appeared on the top rung of the ladder leading down from the cockpit and he watched with disinterest as Master Sio jumped down into the cargo bay.

“Has there been any change?” he asked without preamble, walking over to the child’s makeshift bed – an upturned crate stuffed with blankets – and peering at him intently.

Din shook his head, trying not to sound accusing in his reply. “No.”

The Jedi Master had refused to rouse the foundling when he and Korr had returned to their ship just before dawn. Since the danger had passed, he’d claimed, the safest action was to leave him undisturbed, to let the medication run its natural course rather than risk the consequences of forcing him awake before the effects of the drug had worn off.

Neither Din, half-dead from blood loss, nor Korr, half-dead from exhaustion, had been in any condition to force the matter. In that moment, it had seemed enough that they had the child, that they had made it out of the compound before it was utterly destroyed, and that they were alive.

Now, though, frustration rankled Din’s nerves. His own impotence coupled with the Jedi’s refusal to intervene – no matter how logical – left him in the throes of a deep and bitter helplessness.

Master Sio said, “Arvel tells me that you went back to the base this morning. Did you find what you were looking for?”

Din shook his head again, this time unable to give voice to a response.

The battle had still been raging on when he and Korr had narrowly made their escape from the compound – the corridor had collapsed behind them as they fled the lab – and it had taken hours at the Jedi’s ship to get enough bacta in his system to stabilize his wounds and staunch the blood loss. By the time he had returned to the base, the fight was long over and not a single structure remained standing. A faint glow could be seen on the horizon and the air was crisp with the promise of a new dawn and the wreckage of x-wings and TIE fighters and bodies littered the desert floor and black smoke rose from a hundred smoldering fires, but the area was eerily quiet and devoid of life.

Din had picked his way across the rubble, searching for a glimpse of black hair or steely blue armor, fear and hope and regret seeping out of him as steadily as the blood dripping sluggishly from his hastily bandaged stomach.

He never should have left without her.

Master Sio said, “A woman of her intelligence and ability could very well have escaped the compound before it was destroyed.”

That was true, but the Jedi was unfamiliar with the one undeniable aspect of Cara’s character – her loyalty.

If she had escaped before the base went down, she would have found her way back to Din and the kid.

If she had not escaped, she could not have survived what had followed.

Din would likely have continued the search until he had collapsed from exhaustion, but his lingering fear for the child’s health and a strong aversion to being separated from him after their recent reunion had drawn him back to the ship. Back in the cargo bay of the Jedi’s vessel, he had stationed himself on the very crate he sat on now and watched the child sleep, continuing the search for Cara in his mind. Trying to find a flaw in his own logic, trying to imagine a scenario in which she was alive but missing.

Optimism and denial were not mental exercises that he practiced often, and he found that he wasn’t very good at either of them now.

Now he pushed those thoughts from his mind and looked at Master Sio, focusing on the man who stood there watching him with an attentive gaze. “I saw the aftermath of the battle. Your allies did not escape unscathed.”

“They did not expect to.”

“I’m…grateful for their help. And for yours.”

“I did nothing. It was the Resistance who came to your aid.”

“They were called by you.”

“No, they were called by another.”

Din looked at the child sharply and Master Sio said quickly, “He does not have those kinds of powers yet – though the hope is that one day, he will. That hope, that promise, is what called men to your side here.”

He paused, fixing him with a measured, piercing blue gaze. “You know that he will need to be trained and taught how to harness his abilities. He will need to learn how to keep the darkness at bay. This is the only way that he will be able to protect himself. You have done an admirable job so far, Mandalorian, but you will not be around forever.”

“I know.”

He couldn’t lie to himself any longer. Keeping the kid for so long had been selfish – that much was undeniable now. He had been too short-sighted, too _attached_ , to realize that sooner, and the consequences of his error had been great. The child had nearly died. Many Resistance fighters had. And Cara….

The price of his self-indulgence was almost too much to bear. Din lowered his head. And yet…the thought of relinquishing the child to the Jedi, of never seeing him again….

“I don’t know….” A sudden jolt of pain issued from somewhere between his stomach and his heart and he hesitated, struggling for breath. “I don’t know if I can do what is required.“

“You don’t have to,” Master Sio said gently. “Not yet. He is still young, and for now, he’s safe. You have some time. In fact, the combined influences of your culture and your past may make you uniquely suited to care for him. You will not be tempted to use him for your own purposes.”

Din stared at the child. “If not now, when?”

“I don’t know the answer to that. But you will. When the time is right.”

It was a riddle, not a response, but Din knew that he hadn’t really wanted an answer. He nodded, grateful for the reprieve.

After a moment, the Jedi asked, “What will you do now?”

For so long, he had thought of nothing but the immediate future, of the need to stay one step ahead of the Imps. But when he tried to imagine what would come next, it was jarringly simple. He had to find Cara. And then he had to return the Darksaber to the Mandalorians.

He wore the weapon on his belt and now, in the presence of the Jedi, he felt its weight plainly and conspicuously. The Darksaber had been forged by a Mandalorian, but they were not the only ones who lay claim to it – after all, it had lived in the Jedi Temple for years until the Mandalorians had taken it back during the fall of the Old Republic. It would not be unreasonable to expect that the Jedi would see the weapon as their own, but if Master Sio and Arvel had noticed it in Din’s possession, they had said nothing as of yet.

Din knew that giving the Darksaber to the Jedi was out of the question. It belonged to the Mandalorians – more specifically, in the hands of their leader. Bo-Katan Kryze of the Night Owls had been elected Mand’alor after she had defeated Maul’s Shadow Collective several years ago – though the fact that the Darksaber had turned up in Gideon’s hands did not bode well for her. Din had not heard news of Bo-Katan for some time; but then, that was hardly a surprise since he’d always gotten his news from the Armourer and the Covert.

It occurred to him, not for the first time, that even if his tribe had by now settled on a new planet and were trying to reach him, he’d have no way of getting that message without his ship.

After Cara, then, his next stop would be Rishi. Perhaps there would be a message from Paz. That would make finding them much easier.

Now, Din became aware that Master Sio was still waiting for a response. He said only, “I can’t leave here with knowing what happened to Cara.”

The Jedi nodded, looking unsurprised. “We will remain here for a few days. Our ship isn’t large, but you and your companion are welcome to stay in the cargo bay for as long as you want. Our supplies are yours.” He smiled. “I only ask that you leave us enough caf to get back to Coruscant.”

Din nodded. “You won’t return right away?”

“No. I would like to be present when the child wakes up. After the events of the last few days, I must at least make the acquaintance of the young Master Yoda.” He paused. “What is his name?”

“I don’t know.”

The Jedi raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t named him?”

Din said, “He may already have one. I don’t want to take that away from him.”

_And I’ve never known how much time I’d have with him._

Master Sio looked as if he was about to speak, but the appearance of another set of boots on the top rung of the ladder captured their attention. A moment later, Korr dropped down into the cargo bay.

She glanced at the two of them awkwardly. She had rebraided her hair, Din noticed, and changed into different clothes; now she wore a thin blue shirt over loose black pants that were tucked into her boots. It confused him until he remembered the pile of clothing that she had retrieved from her starfighter several days ago.

Korr asked, “Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” Master Sio replied, and looked back and forth between the two of them. “I’m sure you have much to discuss. I will take my leave.”

Din watched him walk down the ramp of the ship, out into the bright sunshine of the morning, and Korr sat down on the crate next to him and looked at the child. In the chaotic hours following their return to the Jedi’s ship, they had not had a moment alone, and now Din felt something new in the silence between them – a weighted tension, an air of uncertainty.

It felt somehow as if something important had changed between them, though he couldn’t have verbalized what it was.

After a moment, she asked, “Have you slept?”

He shook his head.

“You need to sleep, Mando. He’s safe now. No one can hurt him.”

“I need to be here.”

She sighed and he turned slightly to look at her. Her skin was pale, and the shadows encircling her eyes made them appear darker than ever before. Din was tempted to tell her that she looked like _she_ needed more sleep, but he knew that wasn’t a remark that was likely to go over well. His gaze slid down to the angry, deep red bruises around her neck.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Alright,” she replied, and added pointedly, “Sleep helped.”

“I will,” he said. “When he wakes up.”

“That could be days from now.”

He didn’t reply.

After a moment she asked, “And you? How are you?”

How could he answer that?

He didn’t need to describe his fear that the child might never wake up despite the Jedi’s assurances, or the piercing grief over Cara’s disappearance.

He knew that Korr would understand all of that.

What he didn’t think he could express – nor would he have wanted to, even if he knew how – was the wordless terror he had felt when he had started awake at the sound of a scream to find Gideon kneeling over Korr’s body, his hands around her throat as she bucked and flailed desperately beneath him. What had happened next had been a blur as Din’s instincts had taken over – in that moment, there had been no pain or confusion or weakness. He had at once been paralyzed with fear and electrified with adrenaline and he had slid the Darksaber through Gideon’s neck before he’d even registered the feel of the weapon in his hand.

The prospect of Korr’s death had evoked a primal fear within him, a feeling so intense and inexpressible that in the moment it had overridden all coherent thought, even the desire for self-preservation; and now he was forced to acknowledge something that he had been ignoring for some time. She had come to _mean_ something to him. Something more than an ally. Something more than a friend, even.

Something like what Omera had started to become for him during those quiet weeks on Sorgan, perhaps…and yet, this was different from even that. More magnetic, somehow.

But just as it had been with Omera, Din knew that there was no place in his life for any of it.

He reached out and put a gloved hand on the edge of the child’s crate. He studied his face, the creases along his forehead.

Korr, blissfully unaware of the thoughts roiling around in his head, said, “We should go back to the base when you’re feeling up to it. To look for Cara.”

“I already have.”

“What? Alone?”

“Yes.”

She opened her mouth as if to berate him, but nothing came out and he knew that the significance of his revelation, coupled with Cara’s continued absence, had sunk in. She asked, “You didn’t find anything?”

“No.” The guilt threatened to overwhelm him again and he broke away from her gaze once more. He looked at the child. “I should have left him on Coruscant.”

_I should have left him a long time ago._

Korr looked at him. “No.”

“If I had, none of this would have happened.”

“You know that Gideon was never going to give up. If you had left the kid with the Jedi, he would have gone there and destroyed the entire planet to get to him.”

“They could have protected him – “

“No. Not the way that you have.”

He scoffed.

Korr’s eyes narrowed as she studied him. “It’s true. No one else could have protected him as well as you, Mando. Because no one else loves him the way that you do.”

_Love?_

“And as for Cara…” she hesitated. “I don’t know her that well, and the last thing I want to do is speak for her, but she’s been with you and the kid for a while now. I’m pretty sure she would have left a long time ago if she didn’t believe in what you’re doing.”

She was quiet for a long time before she spoke again. “Don’t do this to yourself, Mando. I know better than anyone what guilt does…how corrosive it is. Don’t give into it now. Not after everything that’s happened. Not when you’ve given me something to believe in.”

Bitterness rose in Din’s throat. “I’ve given you nothing but death.”

Korr’s eyes glistened. “What happened to Owen…was terrible. It’ll never be anything but that. But you acted in defense of the child that night. You did nothing wrong.”

He forced himself to look at her, to search for the tell that would give her away, the flash of hate in her eyes that would reveal the truth – because she _had_ to despise him for what he’d done, no matter how desperately he wanted to believe otherwise.

And yet…though what he had done to her was unforgiveable, he knew that she understood something of the darkness within him. She, too, had lost a family, had let herself be fueled by anger and vengeance and desperation, had lost bits of herself as she navigated her way through the trauma, had emerged from the other end of it irreversibly changed.

If anyone could understand him, he thought it might be Korr.

The possibility terrified him.

She said quietly, “And not that you need my forgiveness, but I forgave you a long time ago.”

Tentatively, she reached out and put a hand against the side of his helmet, and he was reminded of the first time she had done that, back in the lab, how he had yearned to feel her palm against his face. He had been cold and shaky then, but now he felt a sharp spark of heat at the origin of her touch. Instinctively, he mirrored her gesture and pulled her close to him, lowered his forehead against hers.

Korr sighed softly and Din felt something taut snap inside of him.

The waters calmed and the tide slowed its frenetic pace, receding from the ever-present shore.

He closed his eyes.

A minute or an hour might have passed before she spoke again. “Mando,” he heard her say softly, as if from far away. “You need to sleep.”

“I can’t…leave him.”

“Then stay here and sleep beside him. I’ll guard you both.” She hesitated. “You trust me?”

“Yes,” he said, and he meant it.


	32. To Hope

At first, Korr didn’t know what it was that had woken her up. If it had been a sound, it had ended before she had become alert enough to identify it. She knew only that she was suddenly awake, that the inky darkness in the cargo bay indicated that it was either very late or very early. She lay there for a moment, trying to detect a change in the air or perhaps some unseen threat lurking in the shadows that might have disturbed her, but it was quiet and still and warm, and she decided to try to go back to sleep.

Then she heard a soft, tentative squeak issue from the far corner of the room.

For a brief, heart-wrenching moment, she thought that she had imagined it. She had certainly dreamt of the child’s awakening enough times over the last few days and now she was half-convinced that this was only her imagination once more, cruelly tempting her to hope.

Then she heard it again – an inquisitive, slightly more insistent chirp.

 _Not_ her imagination.

Korr stood up and stumbled toward the rear of the cargo bay to investigate. As she neared the crate, she could make out a pair of glinting eyes in the darkness, the shape of a small silhouette standing upright in the box. It was the child, peering up at her.

Relief flooded her body and she clutched the edge of the crate to steady herself.

“You’re awake,” she whispered. “Thank the gods.”

This was salvation. For her, yes, but more importantly, for _him_.

She knew that the Mandalorian still blamed himself for what had happened. He had said nothing since that earlier, uncharacteristic display of vulnerability, but guilt was a strange and heavy thing, and she knew that it would ebb and flow like the tide. Sometimes he’d be able to push it to the back of his mind, and other times it would surge to the forefront with all of the violence and inexorability of a tidal wave.

Korr had done her best to convince him that the events that had transpired were not his fault, that they hadn’t been a result of his failures, but what she hadn’t said that day was how heavily the guilt weighed on _her_. The actions that she had taken during her misguided quest for vengeance that had resulted with the child falling into the hands of the Moff.

If she had expressed her own feelings of guilt, the Mandalorian might have attempted to comfort her, as she had him. She knew, though, that it was not his place to do so. It was _her_ job to figure out how to live with herself, to find and forge a new path forward, a path built on something other than loss and regret.

Between the two of them, there was enough guilt to last several lifetimes. She knew that it was time to move on, to forgive each other and themselves; but she also recognized that the healing couldn’t begin until the child woke up. If he didn’t make it, there would be no redemption. Not for any of them.

And now – now he was _awake_ , and suddenly the world was full of promise.

She reached out and touched the foundling’s head gently, overwhelmed with relief and gratitude. He was alive and seemingly unhurt.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I’m so sorry for what I did to you.”

He cocked his head, eyes wide and knowing.

Korr glanced down at the Mandalorian, who had fallen asleep nearby in a rather undignified position. He had been sitting against the wall of the cargo bay, but over the course of the night he had lost the battle against gravity and now he was slumped down on the floor, his head lolling against his chest.

She wondered if he was drooling underneath the helmet.

“Hey,” she said, and nudged him when he didn’t stir. There was no response. She kicked his boot. “Mando.”

He jerked awake with a start, reaching for the blaster at his hip.

“Sorry,” she said hastily, holding up a hand. She had clearly overdone that. “It’s the kid. He’s awake.”

The Mandalorian leapt to his feet, one hand going reflexively to his side to guard against the pain – but there was no flinch, no sharp intake of breath. Instead, Korr watched him run his gloved hand along his stomach with a growing hesitation.

He slowly lifted his shirt around the cuirass, then pulled off the blood-stained bandage, and Korr stared in shock.

There _was_ no wound. There was only skin, smooth and taut, unbroken and unscarred.

Without thinking, she reached out to touch the unblemished area with a sense of wonder, remembering how only hours earlier the open wound had been hot with fever and bleeding heavily enough to require multiple redressings throughout the day.

The Mandalorian flinched at her touch and she pulled her hand back as quickly as if he’d trained his flamethrower on it.

“Sorry,” they said at the same time.

“I didn’t mean to – “ Korr stammered, searching for words. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s fine,” he said, and there was a moment of hesitation before she saw his helmet tilt away from her. In anger? Embarrassment?

They both looked at the child. He wiggled his ears and looked back at them innocently.

“He…healed you,” she said. “From his bed. That’s incredible.”

“Yes.”

The Mandalorian lifted him out of the crate and took him in his arms, and the child cooed in response and tapped a tiny claw against the side of his helmet. Korr was struck speechless by the shadowy incongruity of the armored warrior, dressed in the accoutrements of death, holding the small child with such reverence and care, his helmet bent low to his face as if he meant to kiss him.

“ _Ad’ika_ ,” she heard him murmur, and he said it with such tenderness that she didn’t dare ask what it meant. Instead, she stepped back, not wanting to intrude on the intimacy of the moment as he continued to speak to the child in an unfamiliar tongue.

She knew that he had wounds beyond the physical, wounds that even the child’s awakening couldn’t heal. His grief over Cara’s absence continued to weigh heavily on him but getting the foundling back would return purpose to his life. As it would hers.

“How much do you think he understands? About what happened?”

The Mandalorian glanced at her, hearing the question that she was really asking. “He’ll understand what matters. That you did the right thing, in the end.”

She gazed at the child. “There are things I understand now, too. About what the wrong kinds of people are willing to do to get their hands on him. About how much he means to the galaxy.”

The child reached out and put his hands on the shiny helmet, stretching his arms across the black T-visor as if to embrace it, and the Mandalorian stood patiently and made no effort to stop him. After a moment, he said quietly, “That’s why I need to find his people. If they’re as powerful as he is, they’ll be able to protect him.”

Korr nodded. “I want to help you.”

“That isn’t necessary.”

He had misunderstood her. “This isn’t penance, or about what I’ve done, or the…mistakes that I’ve made, though maybe it should be.” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “It’s just that I finally have the chance to do something good – to help someone, to _honor_ my brother’s memory by doing it. To make his death mean something.”

She didn’t say that the alternative was to return to that yawning darkness, that if left rudderless and without purpose she feared she might turn to the despairing rage that had compelled her to do things that she had never thought herself capable of doing.

Instead, she said only, “I want to see this through.”

The Mandalorian studied her. Thinking, perhaps, once more of the reason why Owen was dead, of his own role in it all. “I understand.”

Korr suddenly recalled the night before, when he had taken her face in his hands and brought her close to him, when she had felt the warmth of his fingers through his gloves and heard the slight hitch of breath beneath the helmet. Her heart had started racing and she had wanted desperately in that moment to see him, to really _see_ him, to know what his skin felt like against her fingertips, to hear his voice come out clear and unfiltered, to feel his lips against hers.

At that moment she had let herself wonder, for the first time, if he might feel the same way about her as she did about him.

“Mando,” she said slowly. “I need to tell you something else.”

He looked at her, hearing the hesitation in her voice, but said nothing.

She forced herself to maintain eye contact – or what she thought was eye contact – with him, marveling at how controlled her voice sounded even as her mouth went dry and her heart began to beat wildly in her throat. “I – I don’t hate you anymore.”

He cocked his head at her. “Thanks.”

 _Bad start._ She tried again. “When we first met, I only wanted one thing – to hurt you, the way that I was hurting. I know it…took me a while, but at some point, I realized that you weren’t the evil, coldhearted killer I thought you were. That everything you did was to protect the child, and that that was a good and important thing to do. I realized that I was chasing the pain, not seeking to get rid of it, and that the only way out was to embrace the alternative – to help you stop the Moff.” She hesitated. “You’re not my enemy. I don’t hate you. I think I might…have feelings for you.”

The Mandalorian was still watching her and she swallowed. “I know that’s insane for a lot of reasons. I barely know your name. I’ve never even seen your face – not that that matters, but you know, we’ve never…and I don’t know if your…code will even let you….” She was babbling like an idiot now but concentrating on stringing together coherent sentences was the only thing keeping her from sinking into the floor in total embarrassment at this point. She gave up on her previous sentence and finished lamely, “I just figured that if we’re going to travel together, you should know how I feel.”

There. It wasn’t the most eloquent statement she’d ever made, but she couldn’t express herself more plainly than that.

The Mandalorian had gone very still. In his arms, the child squirmed, as if sensing his discomfort. Korr felt rooted to the spot, suddenly unable to tear her eyes away from him, painfully aware from his reaction that she had made a mistake, revealed something that she shouldn’t have, offered something that he wasn’t going to accept.

 _Say something_ , she thought, knowing that she didn’t want to hear what he had to say.

Finally, he spoke, quietly and not unkindly. “I don’t…think that’s a good idea. Us traveling together.”

She felt the words like a slap in the face and took a step back, and he lowered his helmet in a way that seemed almost apologetic but made no move to close the distance between them.

“The kid is still the priority,” he said. “He doesn’t…leave room for anything else. And I won’t be able to focus on the task at hand if you’re there.”

Korr couldn’t fault him for his honesty. She couldn’t even argue with his logic. Still, she found that she also couldn’t quite meet his gaze when she nodded, her eyes burning, and replied too quickly, “I understand.”

When she turned away from him, she could feel his gaze on the back of her neck – but he didn’t say anything else.

What had she expected? Maybe they had had a blossoming friendship, once – and maybe it could have grown into something more eventually; but all of that promise and possibility had rested on a stack of lies. The explosive truth had obliterated all of it.

She realized that whatever she had thought she’d sensed from him the night before had been nothing more than the consequences of a bone-weary delirium. He hadn’t leaned into her because he’d been drawn to her touch; he’d simply been too exhausted to remain upright.

They had managed to see past that recent trauma in order to deal with the immediate crisis at hand but it was insane to think that they could continue to coexist once the adrenaline faded, once the urgency dissipated and life returned to whatever ‘normal’ had been before all of this had begun. Only an idiot would think that a possibility.

Korr realized that soon, she would be on her own again – only now, she’d have no quest for vengeance, no burning need for justice to propel her forward. Her future sprawled out before her, unwritten and utterly unknowable, but where that prospect had once filled her with excitement, now she felt only a heavy sense of loss.

The only certainty, then, was that that future would be absent the Mandalorian and the child.

She didn’t mean anything to him.

They didn’t speak for the rest of the night.

* * *

In the morning, it was time to introduce the child to the Jedi.

Korr watched the Mandalorian set the child down on the floor of the cargo bay. He teetered for a moment, gathering his feet under him, blinking slowly as he gazed out curiously at the sand below.

“Go,” the Mandalorian said gently, and the child looked up at him. “Go on.”

He began to waddle down the landing ramp, drawn by the brilliance of the desert sun. His feet left little claw marks in the sand behind him as he struck out with purpose across the expansive, featureless desert.

The Mandalorian followed him slowly, and Korr followed the Mandalorian. They had passed the rest of the night in silence – Korr had returned to her makeshift bed at the far end of the cargo bay and pretended to sleep – and in that time, the distance between them seemed to have grown. Now, it felt as if a chasm had opened up between them, fathomless and impenetrable.

Master Sio and Arvel could be seen in the distance, their hands clasped in front of them as they walked back toward the ship. Arvel saw them first – he shielded his eyes with his hand, squinting as he tried to make out the small object in front of them.

“I see the child has woken up,” Master Sio said when they were within hearing distance of each other, and even the seasoned Jedi Master couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice. “And walking already?”

“He’s been busy,” the Mandalorian replied, a hand going to his stomach, and Master Sio gave him a shrewd look.

“Yes. I see that.”

He crouched down and studied the foundling but made no move to touch him. “It’s incredible. He is the spitting image of Grand Master Yoda. And, it would seem, just as powerful, given the considerable skill that he has already displayed, and as only a mere infant.”

“His powers,” the Mandalorian said. “Will they continue to…develop? Even without guidance?”

“Oh, yes. His capacity to use the Force is innate – it cannot be taught. What he will not have is the skill to harness it. That he will learn only when someone is there to teach him.” Master Sio must have sensed the next question, because he added, “We have some time before those lessons must begin.”

“What should I do to…encourage him? To help him?”

“Keep him alive. That should be easier now that the Moff has been defeated.” The Jedi glanced at Korr. “And the two of you seem to make a good team.”

Korr turned her attention to a nearby pile of rocks, pretending to be suddenly fascinated by their arrangement. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Mandalorian look at her.

But he said only, “Thank you. It’s not lost on me that…we would not have been able to save the child without your help.”

“It was a worthy cause. If the Imps had succeeded in their quest, the galaxy would have faced a great threat. We are happy to have played a role in preventing that from occurring.” He paused, glanced at Arvel. “Our assistance has not been entirely selfless. We have learned a great deal – both about the whereabouts of child, and the Darksaber.”

Beside her, Korr felt the Mandalorian tense.

Master Sio said, “You know its history. You know that it belongs with the Jedi.”

 _What?_ Despite her resolve to avoid all future eye contact with the Mandalorian, Korr found herself turning to him in shock. He appeared entirely unsurprised by the Jedi’s claim; apparently, he had simply neglected to educate her on _that_ interesting bit of history.

“The Darksaber was made by a Mandalorian,” he said evenly, confirming her suspicion. “It belongs with us.”

The child glanced up at him, sensing the tension in the air.

“Tarre Vizsla was a Mandalorian _and_ a Jedi. We held the Darksaber in reverence in the Jedi Temple for hundreds of years until your people stole it from us. It is an important artifact of our past.”

“It’s the symbol of our future.”

Master Sio studied the Mandalorian and Korr noticed for the first time an iciness in his light blue gaze, a coldness where before she had only seen warmth. It sent a chill through her, hinted at a ruthlessness that he had not shown in the time they had spent together. Now, he nodded tersely and said, “We have secured a great victory together, and this is a discussion for another time. We do not intend to take it with us today.”

The Mandalorian didn’t respond, but everything in the way he stood, so still and with his head cocked down and slightly to the side said _your intentions make no difference to me._

It was obvious that there was still a large degree of distrust between the Mandalorian and the Jedi who had helped to save the child, which was unsurprising; a single moment in time was not enough to erase generations of animosity and opposition.

Arvel, clearly eager to dispel the tension in the air, spoke amicably. “We leave today for Coruscant. I understand that you will remain here for the time being.”

“Yes.”

For a brief moment, Korr considered asking the Jedi to take her with them. What reason did she have to stay? There was nothing left for her here – the Mandalorian had made that clear that last night. Her options for starting a new life would be infinitely better on the busy ecumenopolis of Coruscant than here on the dusty, barren planet of Arvala-7. She could see her parents. Buy a ship. She would be _home_ , whatever that word meant now.

She knew, though, that she couldn’t leave. Not yet. The Mandalorian may have rejected her, but she couldn’t bring herself to abandon him to face the truth about his friend alone. She owed him – and Cara – that, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we're nearing the end of this crazy journey. The final chapter is shaping up to be much longer than I had originally intended, so be prepared for that. Sorry - there are just too many loose ends to tie up and conversations to be had (and maybe I'm not totally ready to say goodbye to all of these characters).
> 
> For those of you who have stayed with the story up to this point, THANK YOU! 2020 has been a shit year for many reasons that probably don't need to be explored here, but getting to interact with you all through your views, kudos, comments, bookmarks, etc. has definitely been some of the brighter moments.


	33. A Safe Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I had every intention of wrapping this story up with one final chapter…and then I sat down to finish writing it and before I knew it, it had grown into a 5,000+ word behemoth (which is beyond my arbitrarily determined max chapter length). So, I’ve decided to split it into two. The good news is that the last bit is nearly finished and will likely be posted before next Sunday (normal posting schedule), and the bad news is that those of you who were expecting this would be the final update will have to hang in there with me for a few more days. 😊

From a distance, and under the late afternoon sun of the Arvalan desert, the vapor farm could have been a shimmering mirage, the desperate fantasy of a dying man; and Din felt a heady relief upon catching sight of it.

This was somewhere _safe_. And they could finally catch their breath.

Kuiil stood outside of his home and watched Din and Korr approach on the speeder bike, his mouth cast in the downward scowl that was a permanent aspect of his expression, a hand cupped over his eyes to protect against the swirling eddies of dust kicked up by the wind.

When he spoke, however, his tone was jovial and good-natured. “I’ve been wondering when you would show up.”

Din shook his hand. “You were expecting me?”

“Yes,” he replied, but didn’t offer further explanation. He looked curiously at Korr. “Who is your companion?”

She stuck her hand out hastily, as if in a hurry to introduce herself before Din could do so. “My name is Korr. I’ve been…helping the Mandalorian on his journey.”

“She’s a…friend,” Din said, glancing at her. “We’ve been together since the last time you and I last saw each other.” He said to Korr, “Kuiil was the first person I met when I came here in search of the child. I would not have found him without his help.”

She acknowledged the explanation with a nod but didn’t so much as blink in his direction. That bothered him – though he knew he had no right to feel that way. If there had been a worst way to respond to her confession last night, he hadn’t been able to think of it; and in the hours since, he was pretty sure he had gone over the conversation in his mind enough times to have come up with every possible alternative.

He wondered, not for the first time, why she had chosen to remain with him instead of going back to the Core with the Jedi. Judging by the last twelve hours, it wasn’t because of his conversational skills.

Kuiil squatted low to the ground and reached playfully toward the foundling, who had hidden himself behind Din’s boot. “It’s good to see _you_ again, as well. My pest problem has gotten out of control since the last time you were here.” He glanced up at Din. “I’m sure the frogs will keep him occupied. We have much to discuss.”

Din nodded. “I assume you know about the fight at the military base a few nights ago.”

“Not only do I know about it – I climbed to the top of my water tower and _watched_ it. It was quite the spectacle. I doubt the planet has seen so much activity since its heyday as a Republic outpost. You were there, I assume.”

“Yes.”

“You are lucky to have escaped with your lives.”

His words cut at Din, reminding him of the one who may not have been so lucky. He said, more curtly than he intended, “Several days ago, the Imps ambushed us on another planet and made off with the kid. They brought him here to…conduct their experiments, but we managed to rescue him with the help of the Jedi. And the Resistance.”

He waited for Kuiil to pepper him with questions – his terse explanation had surely raised more questions than it had answered – but the Ugnaught simply straightened and wiped his hands on the knees of his pants.

“Why don’t you tell me all about it inside? I have a pot of grassroot stew on the fire that needs stirring.”

Din shook his head. “Later. I’ve come to ask for your help. I need to borrow your blurrg.”

“For what purpose?”

“To return to the compound.”

The Ugnaught raised a bushy eyebrow and glanced at the speeder behind Din. “What’s wrong with the bike?”

“It’s nearly out of fuel and I doubt there are any reserves left intact at the base. It would have been a one-way trip.”

Din didn’t add that the bike, designed for a single rider, had already been straining to carry him, Korr, and the child. It wouldn’t be able to handle the weight of another body, but the blurrg could manage the load easily.

This time, he wasn’t going to leave without Cara – whatever that needed to mean.

Kuiil studied him. “I went there after the battle to search for parts. There’s nothing left – not a single building remains standing. You won’t find anything.” When Din didn’t reply, the Ugnaught shrugged. “I won’t try to dissuade you. You’re welcome to use my blurrg to make the journey if you feel it’s necessary. They could certainly use the exercise.”

Din glanced out at the large enclosure that sat several hundred yards away from Kuiil’s house. From where they stood, he could see three of the creatures roaming languidly around the pen. There wasn’t a single molecule of his being that relished the prospect of riding a blurrg again, but he didn’t have a lot of options.

Kuiil asked, “Where is your ship?”

“Abandoned,” Din said, and he couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. “Destroyed by the Imps.”

“Then you’ll need a place to sleep, unless you want to become a target for Jawas and packs of mercenaries. You are welcome to stay here.”

“Thank you. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“It’s not,” Kuiil said, waving a hand. “Like I said, we’ve been wondering when you were going to show up.”

Korr frowned and spoke nearly her first word since arriving. “We?”

As if on cue, the front door to Kuiil’s house opened and a familiar, striking figure with short black hair and turquoise battle armor appeared in the doorway.

Din stared, his mouth going dry. His world tilted but he managed get a single word out. “ _Cara_?”

Cara grinned. “I’ve never wanted to take that helmet off so badly. Man, I’d kill to see the look on your face right now.”

Disbelief and shock collided with a staggering sense of relief that nearly drove Din to his knees. He looked at Kuiil, then back at Cara, taking one step forward, and then another, until they were clasping each other’s arms. She was solid. Real. _Whole_. Standing right in front of him with that easy, cocky smirk of hers. He said stupidly, “You’re alive.”

“I was in pretty rough shape a few days ago. But yeah, I’m still kicking.” She punched him lightly in the shoulder. “It’s good to see that you are, too.”

“But how…?”

“Your friend saved my ass,” she said, glancing at Kuiil. “But it’s a long story. And like he said, there’s stew on the fire.”

A quiet chirp drew their attention downward, where the foundling was gazing up at Cara with an unmistakably fond expression on his face. She smiled. “Hey buddy, I’m glad you’ve decided to return to the land of the living again. You had us worried there for a bit.”

They entered the house. Kuiil busied himself with stirring the large cauldron of stew and the rest of them sat down on stools around the fire. Cara stretched a heavily bandaged leg out in front of her, resting it atop a pile of haphazardly stacked books with an easy familiarity, as if she had been doing it for a while.

“How long have you been here?” Din asked her.

“Since the battle. Three days ago.”

 _Three days._ Three days in which he had agonized over her disappearance, floundering in guilt and fear and grief. Now, he felt only relief – an incredible, exhaustive relief that settled deep into his bones.

The child was safe. Cara and Korr were alive. And Gideon was dead.

It felt like the outcome he had never dared to hope for.

Korr asked Cara, “What happened? With the doctor?”

“I caught up with the bastard at the same time as a bunch of stormtroopers. One of them got my arm pretty good.” Here, she held up her left arm and Din could see that her forearm was thickly bandaged. “I managed to put them all down, but by the time I was done, the doctor was long gone. I searched for him for a while longer, but it was impossible in that maze of hallways and I knew that we were running short on time when I heard the hanger bay explode. So, I retraced my steps back to the lab.”

“We never saw you – “

“That’s because I got lost,” she said, in a tone that told Din just how much it bothered her to admit it. “And then there was another explosion that nearly knocked my guts out through my ears. I did make it back to the lab eventually, but you guys were gone, the kid was gone, there was a pretty serious pool of blood in the corner, and Gideon was lying on the floor, dead.” She paused, studying Din. “Judging by your lack of a reaction, I take it you knew that already.”

“Yes,” he replied, his mind racing as he mentally lined up Cara’s version of events with his own. “You must have been right behind us. But the corridor – “

She nodded. “By the time I got there, it had collapsed. There was no way to get back to the hanger bay and the bombs were coming in hot and heavy. I found another exit point but it ended up spitting me out on the other side of the compound. I tried to get out into the desert, to find shelter away from the action, but the terrain was hell. Huge, jagged rocks rising out of the ground like enormous black knives.”

“The lava fields,” Kuiil said to Korr. “The eastern edge of the compound is impassable on foot. That is why the Mandalorian asked for the blurrg.”

Korr glanced at Din. “I don’t think he’ll be needing them anymore.”

“Those things are ugly enough to look at on a good day from several hundred yards away,” Cara said. “Imagine waking up after being knocked out by a concussion grenade to find one of them looking down at you with a mouthful of jagged teeth.”

“And me, sitting atop it,” Kuiil said. “That certainly did not improve the visual.”

Din looked at him. “You found her that night?”

“Yes. I could see that she was hurt, but not dead, so I brought her here and treated her injuries. She told me her story and we discovered quite quickly that we had a mutual friend.”

Din shook his head, still in mild disbelief at the turn of events. He said to Cara, “I went back to look for you.”

“Yeah. I figured you would. I figured that you’d be making yourself sick with guilt.” Cara paused to accept the bowl of stew that Kuiil handed her. “I wanted to find you, too, but I wasn’t moving too well, and the trip would have been rough, even with the blurrg. Your buddy here told me to wait. He knew that if you were alive, you would come eventually.”

She looked at Kuiil affectionately. “You know he doesn’t even have a HoloVid? He lives out here like a Mantellian Savrip in the Stone Age.”

Kuiil shrugged. “I worked an entire lifetime to be free of servitude. Now, there’s no one I need to communicate with.”

Cara fixed Din with a long, meaningful look. “ _I_ was worried, too. I had no idea if you’d made it out in time.”

“He almost didn’t,” Korr said. “That blood you saw on the floor of the lab was his.”

Din saw the eyes in the room turn toward him, and he knew it was his turn. So he started to recount his version of events – haltingly, because it wasn’t in his nature to talk at length or _explain_ things. He told them about the lightsaber duel between him and Gideon, how the Moff had gained the upper hand and shot him, and how Korr’s diversion in the corridor had saved his life.

After he finished, there was a long silence as the others absorbed his retelling.

“I wish I’d been there to see Gideon’s face when you skewered him,” Cara finally said.

“From behind,” Din said, and felt a twinge of regret at the memory. “It wasn’t an honorable kill.”

“Yeah, well. The bastard didn’t have a shred of honor in his body. He deserved it.”

There was a loud slurping sound from near Din’s boots and he looked down to see the child sitting on the ground, tilting the bowl toward his face to collect the remains of his stew, oblivious to the conversation going on above – and honor be damned, he knew that he would have killed the Moff in his sleep if it meant protecting the kid.

Korr was watching the child as well. She said, “I wonder if the doctor made it out.”

Din didn’t reply, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he had. His kind were like spider-roaches – they always managed to survive and resurface.

“His boss and most of his remnant are dead,” Cara said with a dismissive shrug. “Even if he did manage to get out in time, he won’t be our problem anymore.”

“Maybe not, but do you think Moff Gideon was the only Imp looking for the child?”

“He’s the only one we’ve come across so far.”

“Gideon wanted the child for his own purposes,” Din said. “He intended to transfer his abilities into himself, to use him to restore the Empire to power. I don’t think other remnants even know that the child exists.”

“And this…Darksaber,” Kuiil said thoughtfully. “You have it now?”

“Yes.” Din unclipped the hilt from his belt and held it out for the Ugnaught to inspect.

Cara leaned forward with interest. “The last time I saw this thing, I was too concerned about it taking your head off to get a decent look at it. It doesn’t even look like a lightsaber. Not really.”

“No.” In fact, it was a distinctly _Mandalorian_ weapon, with an angular pommel and hand guard. Its slit-shaped emitter produced a plasma beam that was flat, rather than the round shape of a traditional lightsaber, and much more closely resembled the blade of a traditional sword.

All the more reason why it belonged with the Mandalorians and not in some antiquated museum in the Core under the careless eye of the Jedi.

“What will you do with it?” Kuiil asked, handing the weapon back to Din.

“It belongs to our leader. If she is still alive, I must return it to her.”

“Sounds like a tall order,” Cara said dubiously, rubbing her leg. “Do you even know where to begin looking for her?”

He didn’t know where his own tribe was, much less the whereabouts of Bo-Katan or her clans.

“No,” he replied, and glanced down at the kid. “But I know how to find people who are hard to find.”


	34. The Shape of Hope

After they had finished eating, Cara and Din went outside while Korr stayed back to help Kuiil clean up. They walked toward the blurrg enclosure – slowly, because Cara’s leg was still bothering her – and the child followed them distractedly, his attention on the ground as he chased the rapid movements of frogs and lizards across the desert floor.

The sun had dipped just below the horizon and immersed the world in a burnt orange glow. Din glanced at Cara. The fading light had turned her eyes to a dark amber and her hair was tucked back behind one ear, revealing a purpling bruise along her neck.

He still couldn’t believe that she was alive.

Without looking at him, Cara said, “Just because you’re wearing a helmet doesn’t mean that you can stare.”

“I’m not staring.”

“Yes, you are. And you’re probably doing it with a guilty look on your face, even though I’m right here and obviously going to be just fine. I even have a new badass scar to prove it.” He didn’t reply and she turned to face him. “It would have been suicide to stay, Mando. You did the right thing by leaving.”

Din watched the largest of the blurrg mock charge toward one of the others. He said, “You wouldn’t have.”

This was met with a shrug. “If I had the kid? I might have. We both know that he’s more important than either of us.”

That was true, but somehow it felt like only half of the equation.

After a moment, Cara said, “So. She went back for you, huh?”

Din nodded.

He thought about the _kov’nyn_ in the cargo bay of the Jedi’s ship. He knew that Korr likely had no idea what it had meant to him, what the significance of that gesture was in his culture – the intimacy in the touching of foreheads, the promise that it held. It had been a moment of weakness, and he regretted doing it almost as much as he wished he could do it again.

“Great,” Cara said, drawing his attention back to the present. “Don’t tell me I have to go and change my opinion of her now.”

“You don’t.”

“Really? I assumed she’d be sticking around for a while.” He didn’t reply and she glanced at him. “It doesn’t bother me, Mando. Not as long as she has yours and the kid’s best interests at heart.”

There was a tightness in his voice when he replied, “She’s not coming with me.”

Cara looked surprised. “Why not?”

Din watched the blurrg. “I’ve got my hands full with the kid. I don’t have time to take care of someone else.”

“From what I’ve seen, she can take care of herself just fine.”

“She’s still another mouth to feed. And I don’t have room for another passenger.”

“Room? You don’t even have a ship at the moment.”

“Exactly,” Din muttered, and gave her a sideways glance. “Why are you suddenly so concerned about her?”

A shrug. “You mean now that I know she isn’t just biding her time until she gets a chance to kill you? Because she risked her life to save you and the kid, she’s halfway decent with a knife, and it probably wouldn’t hurt to keep someone like that around for a while.”

“Gideon’s dead,” he reminded her. “The Imps – “

“- are not the only threats out there,” Cara said. “You’re about to head off in search of the kid’s people _and_ the Mandalorians. You know you’ll find plenty of trouble wherever you’re going.” She hesitated. “Besides, it sort of seems like you…like her.”

He looked at her.

“I mean, assuming you have those kinds of…or can even….”

He continued looking at her.

“You know…because with Omera….”

He was glad she couldn’t see his face beneath the helmet. He said tersely, “I can.”

“Okay,” Cara said. “Then what’s the problem?”

Moff Gideon’s words echoed in his mind. _So who’s manipulated who?_

“Not so long ago, she wanted to kill me and take the kid,” Din said. “How am I supposed to trust someone like that?”

But even as he spoke, he knew that it was _because_ of that very history that he knew the answer to his question.

The irony of Korr’s quest for vengeance was that the events that had followed had revealed more of her character than Din might ever have learned otherwise. He had seen firsthand her boundless tenacity and resourcefulness, the sharpness of her wit and quick-thinking intellect, and her capacity for a love so profound that she had been willing to kill in its memory. He had seen how she reacted when her life was threatened, and then when her beliefs had been challenged, and how she had eventually let her desire for hate and revenge be expelled by reason and truth.

It took a lot of courage to admit that the path you’d committed everything to had been the wrong one, to offer forgiveness to the person who had single-handedly destroyed your life.

But last night, he knew, had taken the most courage of all. Last night, she had offered more than even forgiveness.

There were a thousand ways that Din could have responded. _Should_ have responded. But caught off-guard and ensnared by his own preconceptions about what the future held, he had rewarded her courage with an uninspiring lack of his own and said _no_ when he’d wanted to say _yes_.

Cara was watching him, as if trying to get a glimpse of the thoughts that were roiling around in his mind. “I don’t know, but you do, don’t you? Trust her, I mean?”

“I’m not sure.”

“You do,” she said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have let her leave the lab with the kid.” She added. “People can change. Even you’re not the same person you were when I first met you.”

“Maybe not. But taking a chance on her puts the child at unnecessary risk.”

“The child?” Cara repeated. “Or you?”

He didn’t reply.

After a moment, she said mildly, “You and the kid are the ones I care about here. You know that. And _I_ know that you have your reasons. Just…make sure they’re actual reasons, and not just excuses. Because sometimes having a partner can be a good thing.”

He looked at her. “I already have a partner, don’t I?”

Cara smiled. “I’ll always be there. You know that.” She rolled her neck, massaging the base of her skull. “But I’m running low on creds, and you’re not exactly raking them in right now either. Thinking I should make a little money before I rejoin you on your escapades. Speaking of which, your old boss offered me a job.”

Din scoffed, but her lack of response drew his eyes to her. “What – you’re considering it?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t have much going on right now. Figured it would keep me out here for a while. I like the Outer Rim. Less people and law to get on the wrong side of.”

“Well, if it keeps you in my neighborhood, I guess I can’t complain.”

Below, the foundling let out an indignant whistle as he jumped across Din’s boot in hot pursuit of a cricket. His quarry leapt away and the child looked up at him with beseeching eyes.

“What do you want me to do about it?” he asked the kid. “I hunt people, not bugs.”

The foundling crinkled his nose, clearly unimpressed with that response, and started waddling away from the pen, his arms outstretched as he followed another jumping insect.

“Aren’t you worried that he’s going to wander off into the middle of the desert and get lost? Or…get trampled by a blurrg or something?”

“No.”

“For someone who just took on an entire army of Imps to get him back, you’re being awfully lax with your parenting.”

“I’m not – “

“You are,” Cara said. “You can tell yourself you’re not, but to _that_ kid, you’re his father whether you want to admit it or not.”

She pushed off the fence and headed in the direction that the child had wandered off in, slapping a hand on Din’s shoulder in passing as she left.

He stared at the blurrg for a while longer, then turned and headed back to the house.

* * *

_One month later…_

* * *

Jumping into hyperspace was never going to get old.

Mando had told her once that it felt enjoyable only because it felt like nothing at all. If the ship’s shutters didn’t drop all the way, if the submersion field stopped working, if the inertial dampers failed to absorb their rapid acceleration, a hyperspace jump would be so devastating to the human body that you would need immediate medical attention in order to survive, if you did at all.

It was the stuff that career pilots worried about. Korr didn’t have to concern herself with the physics of it – not yet, though recently Mando had been trying to teach her about things like _g-force_ and _constant acceleration_ – so for now, she sat back and enjoyed the experience. For now, she could simply marvel at the moment when the shutters came up to reveal a new world outside, at the idea that you could be in one place in the galaxy one second and then find yourself in another within the space of a single heartbeat.

It was the adventure that she and Owen had always dreamed of having together.

One month ago, she, Mando, Cara, and the kid had said goodbye to Kuiil and left Arvala-7 on a starfighter that had been salvaged – and very questionably repaired – from the battlefield.

A few days later, they’d dropped Cara off on Nevarro to seek out Greef Karga and the job that he had promised her. Much to Korr’s surprise, she found that she was disappointed to see the woman leave – she’d enjoyed watching her challenge Mando on nearly every decision he made and give him a run for his money during their nightly arm-wrestling contents – but she also knew that it likely wouldn’t be long before they crossed paths again.

On Nevarro, they had purchased the parts that they needed to make the Razor Crest space-worthy, then returned to Rishi. Korr had been afraid that being back on that island might dredge up painful memories for both of them, but that brief interlude had been her favorite of their journey so far – under the Mandalorian’s surprisingly persistent and gentle instruction, she had finally learned how to swim. It was not a skill that was likely to be useful where they were headed, but it had been _fun_ – the strange and weightless sensation of being buoyed about by the water, the squeals of the kid as Korr had playfully dunked him in the sea, the sight of Mando rising out of the waves, armorless except for his helmet, his flight suit clinging to his form and revealing the lean muscle beneath….

When the Mandalorian had found her in Kuiil’s cottage and asked her to travel with him and the kid, it had been an entirely unromantic offer. _Two sets of eyes on the kid are better than one_ , he’d said, and she had nodded sagely, as if she was simply accepting this rational explanation instead of fighting the urge to jump up and down with mindless elation. As if she hadn’t heard what he was really saying: _I don’t need to do this alone anymore._

But then he’d said, “I can’t promise that you’ll find what you’re looking for,” and her heart had dropped in her chest, though again she had only nodded in response. She’d heard what he had been saying then, too: _We will never be more than what we are right now._

 _That_ hadn’t come up again since that night on the Jedi’s ship on Arvala-7, and that was just fine with her. One intensely humiliating conversation was more than enough. And yet…sometimes she wondered.

She had noticed things. She had noticed the way that Mando had held her in the water on Rishi as he taught her how to stay afloat, how he had seemed almost reluctant to let her go. She had noticed how he seemed to be content to talk with her in the galley for longer and longer periods of time, letting his food grow cold before disappearing into his cabin to eat in privacy. She had noticed the way his gaze lingered on her while she played with the kid, even when he wasn’t actively participating.

Korr noticed a lot of things, but she didn’t dare give voice to her observations.

The sound of footsteps overhead snapped her out of her reverie and she turned away from the window to see Mando’s boots appear on the top rung of the ladder. He dropped down into the cargo bay and walked toward the weapons cabinet, and the purpose in his gait told her that they were nearly at their destination.

“That getting old yet?” he asked without looking at her, and she looked down at the discolored, half-eaten protein bar in her hand.

“It’s not bad for something that expired around the end of the war,” she replied cheerily. She offered some to the foundling, who was sitting on the table beside her. He scrunched up his face, his ears dropping, and she said, “Though it doesn’t seem to be sparking any excitement for our little friend here.”

“There’s a trading outpost on Ashas Ree. We’ll be able to restock and refuel there.”

“I’m not complaining,” Korr said. She watched him pull two pistols out of the cabinet and clip them to his belt. An extra pack of ammo. His rifle. She asked, “Expecting trouble?”

“I always expect trouble.” He glanced at her. “You sure you’re up for this?”

“There are other Mandalorians there, right?”

“That’s what my source says.”

“Well, we need to find them. They may be able to tell us where your Covert is.”

“That’s not what I’m asking. I can’t…promise that we won’t run into trouble here.”

“I’ve never expected you to,” she replied, then added jokingly, “And as much fun as the past few weeks have been, I’m not just here for the titillating conversation and good food, you know.”

He didn’t look at her. “Yes. I know.”

Gods, she couldn’t say anything right today. “That was a joke. Or it was meant to be.”

There was a lull in the conversation. And then, “I wouldn’t blame you for being lonely. We aren’t exactly great company.”

“I have no complaints,” Korr repeated, suddenly worried that he was about to kick her off his ship. Was he sick of her? Had he realized that he’d made a mistake in letting her come along? She said, “I knew what I was signing up for. I don’t need anything else.”

“No?”

She felt her face grow hot at his doubtful tone and was instantly both embarrassed to be reminded of her babbling confession on Arvala-7 and intensely annoyed that he was making her relive it.

“No,” she repeated, with emphasis, and made no effort to hide her irritation. “I mean, I…well, we both remember what I said that night on the Jedi’s ship, but I would never ask more of you. I know you don’t feel the same way.”

The Mandalorian slung his rifle across his back and reached into the cabinet to retrieve several small metal balls. Korr watched him insert each one into a different slot in his vambrace with painstaking care, recalling the night on Sorgan when she’d seen him use the little projectiles to take out the hunters with deadly precision. In her annoyance, she tried to recall the hurt and the pain she had harbored then, the hatred that his faceless presence had inspired within her.

She couldn’t. The man standing before her looked no different than he had that night, but she had come to know so much more of him since then that now, at times, the helmet hardly seemed to matter.

Now, he said quietly, “I never said that.”

Distracted by her reverie, it took Korr a moment to register his statement, to rewind the conversation in her mind and recall what exactly his words were in response to.

When she did, it wasn’t annoyance that rushed through her at what felt like hyperspeed. It was surprise. Elation. Passion.

A little exasperation.

Hope.

The Mandalorian turned to her and asked, “You ready?”

As if he hadn’t just rocked her world with those four simple words. She might have convinced herself that she’d imagined the entire thing if he hadn’t stepped close to her just then, closer than he had any real need to, and stood unmoving, holding her gaze with deliberate intention, the fingers of a gloved hand resting lightly against her arm.

Korr nodded slowly. He wasn’t kicking her off of his ship, she realized.

He was opening a door.

And suddenly the possibilities seemed endless.

She said, “I’m ready for anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that’s it, guys. When I started writing this back in April, I didn’t really know where I was going with it or whether I would finish it, much less ever post it for public consumption. Putting your writing out there is SCARY. I mean it when I say that without the early encouragement and kindness from a few random strangers (you know who you are), this story wouldn’t be what it is today.
> 
> This has been a wild ride. Sometimes I’ve loved every second of it and words have just flown onto the page, and sometimes I have wanted off this malfunctioning rollercoaster and nearly jumped the tracks in desperation. It has been a challenging, scary, frustrating, fulfilling, exciting, and rewarding process. It has gotten me through the dark days of a global pandemic, an unexpected personal health issue, two deaths in the family, and a contentious election. It has been an outlet for some newly found creativity and occupied a mind that would have otherwise been tangled up in doubt, fear, and insecurity.
> 
> So, thank you for lurking, reading, subscribing, bookmarking, commenting, and leaving kudos. Every single one has meant the world to me. If this story has successfully distracted you from the stress of the real world for even a few minutes, I think it’s done its job.


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